In the Quadrangle.
Almost sooner than perhaps even Trace anticipated, was Mr. Henry (one
can't help adhering to the familiar name) to be enlightened; for, as
Trace went out of Mrs. Butter's, Mrs. Paradyne went in. Ah, could he
ever forget his astonishment at what then took place. She fell on her
knees at the bedside; and, pouring out the news she brought, besought
him, with tears and kisses and heartfelt lamentations, to forgive her.
To forgive her for her conduct to him!
That past calamity, five years ago, falling on her with the fury of an
avalanche, seemed to have suddenly changed Mrs. Paradyne's nature. The
sense of disgrace had warped every kindly feeling of her heart, to have
brought out all there was within her of selfishness. She had been a
proud woman, secure in the self-esteem that arises from a consciousness
of ever striving to do well. The blow seemed to have dried up all
affection, except for George, her youngest-born, whom she had ever
passionately loved; and her time was spent in silently, sometimes
openly, reproaching the husband who had so wronged her. Her letters to
her eldest son in Germany grew few and cold; she accepted as her due
what aid he could send, returning scant thanks for it. When, four years
later, he came to Orville, she scarcely received him patiently. She
resented his having advised the removal of George to Orville College,
now that it was known the Loftus boys and Trace were at the same; and
she, from motives of policy, forbade him to own relationship with them,
or to call her mother. Were it disclosed that he was a Paradyne, he
might no longer be able to work for them. He must go to the house but
once in a way, and then as an acquaintance. But for the ordeal of
sorrow he had been passing through for four years, these cruelties
might have well nigh gone to break Arthur Paradyne's heart. As it was,
they were but additional drops in the cup of bitterness he was
draining.
But when the astounding news, that her husband had been innocent, burst
upon Mrs. Paradyne, she woke up from her nightmare. With the lifting of
the stigma from their heads, all her former kindly nature (it had not
been very great) returned; the hard scales fell from her eyes and
heart, and she saw how selfish, nay, how cruel, had been her treatment
of her eldest son. In nearly the selfsame hour, she received tidings
that his sickness—in which she had previously only half-believed—had
increased alarmingly; she heard the report that it might end in death.
And here she was on her knees at his bedside; the tears streaming from
her eyes, kisses from her lips, pouring forth the blessed news, just
heard, and beseeching him to forgive her; to love her as of yore. It
seemed to him that he was repaid for all.
Morning rose. Standing in the quadrangle, that favourite place of
theirs, under the early November sun, were the college boys, George
Paradyne making one. Strange and startling tidings had just been
disclosed to them. The gainer of the Orville, so universally assumed to
be Trace, might probably turn out to be somebody else.
For Trace had thrown up the prize, and quitted the college!
Thrown up the Great Orville Prize? Quitted the college? The throng
stared stupidly at one another, unable to understand it. And yet it
must be true; for the announcement had come to them from the Head
Master.
The truth was, poor Raymond Trace, after a whole night's battling with
his mortified spirit, had found himself utterly unable to face the
disclosure that must be made. If not made at once, it must inevitably,
as he knew, come out later. At six o'clock that morning he was with the
Head Master; and before seven he had gone out of the college gates,
never to return. At present the boys were in ignorance of any ill; and
would be kept so as long as was possible. A report arose, its origin
not altogether clear, that Trace was called thus suddenly away by some
stupendous business in which his father was engaged in America. The
boys were repeating this over to each other, in full belief of its
veracity.
The substance of their conversation reached the ears of two gentlemen
who were advancing unobserved, arm-in-arm: Sir Simon Orville and Mr.
Loftus. "Called away on sudden business!" repeated Sir Simon. "Let 'em
think it. As good, that, as any other passing plea. Poor Raymond!"
Bertie Loftus was the first to catch sight of his father. Bertie was as
ignorant of recent events as the youngest boy there. He went up with a
glow of pleasure on his face, hardly believing the vision could be
real. Dick, dashing in, got the first question. "Papa! papa! what have
you come for?"
Mr. Loftus, his tall, slender figure and handsome face presenting a
contrast to Sir Simon's, made a sign for the boys to gather round him,
and drew George Paradyne to his side. "Sir Simon telegraphed for me on
a matter of business," he said to his sons. "But"—turning to the
throng—"I have come here this morning to perform an act of justice: one
which has been delayed so long through ignorance on my part and fraud
on another's, that it seems to me as if vengeance must cry aloud to
Heaven. Gentlemen, you have heard of the frauds that George Paradyne's
father was accused of perpetrating. Within a few hours we have
discovered his innocence. He was innocent as I; and more so: for I, by
my culpable negligence, and mistaken trust in another who was guilty,
contributed to the mistake. This boy"—laying his hand on George's
shoulder—"has been reproached by you as the son of a man of crime: let
me tell you, as I do before Heaven, that his father was a good and
honourable gentleman; a brave soldier of his Queen's; a faithful
servant of One who is higher than any Queen."
"He has been treated like a dog amidst you," impatiently broke in Sir
Simon, drowning the more temperate words of Mr. Loftus, and turning
himself about in his own fashion. "You have behaved cantankerously to
him, like a cross-grained set, as you are! And now you'll have to eat
humble-pie and be ashamed of yourselves. I'd not own any of you; I
wouldn't."
In spite of the hard words, there was a humorous sound of excuse in
them; the boys detected the good-feeling, laughed, and began to cheer.
Mr. Lamb put on his meekest face and drew a little away; and then
called out that the college would not have known anything about
Paradyne, neither have thought of being hard upon him, but for Trace.
"Just so," cried Sir Simon. "Trace is——"
Mr. Loftus laid his hand upon his impulsive brother-in-law, who might
have been about to declare more than was necessary. It was not noticed.
The excitement was rising; the hubbub was great. A hundred hands were
held out to shake Paradyne's, in atonement for the past; a contrast to
the scene of the previous day when the same hands were put forth to
strike him. They shouted, they threw their caps in the air: they felt,
and with shame, how ill they had behaved to him throughout, how
mistaken they had been. George met the hands with his own ready one,
with his frank and generous smile; not a bit of malice entertained he.
But there was a world of pride in the self-sustained movement with
which he threw back his head; in the quiet, self-reliant only words he
spoke:
"I always said, you know, that my father was innocent."