How easy to keep free from sin,
How hard that freedom to recall!
For dreadful truth it is, that men
_Forget_ the heavens from which they fall.
Cov. Patmore.
It may be thought strange that Kenrick did not at once, while his heart
was softened, and when he saw so clearly how much he had erred, go there
and then to Walter, confess to him that everything was now explained,
that he had never received his last note, and that, for his own sake, he
desired to be restored, as far as was possible, to his former footing.
If that had not been for Kenrick a period of depression and ill-repute,
he would undoubtedly have done so; but he did not like to go, now that
he was in disgrace, now that his friendship could do no credit, and, as
he feared, confer no pleasure on any one, and under circumstances which
would make it appear that he had changed his views under the influence
of selfish interest, rather than of true conviction or generous impulse.
He thought, too, that friendship over was like water spilt, and could
not be gathered up again; that it was like a broken thread which cannot
again be smoothly reunited. So things remained on the same footing as
before, except that Kenrick's whole demeanour was changed for the
better. He bore his punishment in a quiet and manly way; took his place
without a murmur below Henderson at the bottom of the monitors; did not
by any bravado attempt to conceal that he felt justly humiliated, and
gave Whalley his best assistance in governing the Noelites, and bringing
them back by slow but sure degrees to a better tone of thought and
feeling. Towards Walter especially his whole manner altered. Hitherto
he had made a point of always opposing him, and taking every opportunity
to show him a strong dislike. If Walter had embraced one opinion at a
monitors' meeting, it was quite sufficient reason for Kenrick to support
another; if Walter had spoken on one side at the debating society,
Kenrick held it to be a logical consequence that, whatever he thought,
he should speak on the other, and use his powers of speaking, which were
considerable, to throw on Walter's illustrations and arguments all the
ridicule he could. All this folly and virulence was now abandoned; the
swagger which Kenrick had adopted was from that time entirely laid
aside. At the very next meeting of the debating society he spoke, as
indeed he generally thought, on the same side with Walter; and spoke,
not in his usual flippant conceited style, but more seriously and
earnestly, treating Walter's speech with approval and almost with
deference. Every one noticed and rejoiced in this change of manner, and
none more so than Walter Evson and Power.
Kenrick finished with these words--"Gentlemen, before I sit down I have
a task to perform, which, however painful it may be to me, it is due to
you that I should not neglect. I may do it now, because I see that none
but the sixth-form are present, and because I may not have another early
opportunity. I have incurred, as you are all well aware, a unanimous
vote of censure from my colleagues--unanimous, although, through a
delicacy which I am thankful to be still capable of keenly appreciating,
the name of one..." the word "friend" sprang to his lips, but humility
forbade him to adopt it, and he said... "the name of one monitor is
absent from the appended signatures. Gentlemen, I do not like public
recantations or public professions, but I feel it my duty to acknowledge
without palliation that I feel the censure to have been deserved." His
voice faltered with emotion as he proceeded: "I have been misled,
gentlemen, and I have been labouring for a long time under a grievous
mistake, which has led me to do much injustice and inflict many wrongs;
for these errors I now ask the pardon of all, and especially of those
who are most concerned. Your censure, gentlemen, concluded with a kind
and friendly wish, and I cannot trust myself to say more now, than to
echo that wish with all my heart, and to hope that ere long the efforts
which I shall endeavour to make may succeed in persuading you to give me
back your confidence and esteem, and to erase from the book the
permanent record of your recent disapproval."
Every one present felt how great must have been the suffering which
could wring such an expression of regret from a nature so proud as
Kenrick's. They listened in silence, and when he sat down greeted him
with an applause which showed how readily he might win their regard;
while many of them came round him and shook hands with warmth.
"Gentlemen," said Power, rising, "I am sure we all feel that the remarks
we have just heard do honour to the speaker. I hold in my hand the
monitors' book, open at the page on which our censure was written.
After what we have heard there can be no necessity why that page should
remain where it is for a single day. I beg to move that leave may be
given me to tear it out at once."
"And I am eager to second the motion," said Henderson, starting up at
the same moment with several others; "and, Kenrick--if I may break
through, on such an occasion as this, our ordinary forms, and address
you by name--I am sure you will believe that though I have very often
opposed you, no one will be more glad than myself to welcome you back as
a friend, and to hope that you may soon be, what you are so capable of
being, not only our greatest support, but also one of the brightest
ornaments of our body." He held out his hand, which Kenrick readily
grasped, whispering, with a sigh, "Ah, Flip, how I wish that we had
never broken with each other!"
The proposal was carried by acclamation, and Power accordingly tore out
the sheet and put it in the fire. And that night brightened for Kenrick
into the dawn of better days. Twenty times over Walter thought that
Kenrick was going to speak to him--for his manner was quite different;
but Kenrick, though every particle of ill-will had vanished from his
mind, and had been replaced by his old unimpaired affection, put off the
reconciliation until he should have been able in some measure to recover
his old position, and to meet his friend on a footing of greater
equality.
Do not let any one think that his reformation was too easy. It took him
long to conquer himself, and he found the task sorely difficult; but
after many failures and relapses, the words of another who had sinned
and suffered three thousand years ago, and who, after many a struggle,
had discovered the true secret, came home to Kenrick and whispered to
him the message--"Then I said, _It is mine own infirmity: but I will
remember the years of the right-hand of the Most Highest_."
It was not long before one great difficulty confronted him, the
consequence of former misdeeds, and put him under circumstances which
demanded the whole courage of his character, and thoroughly tested the
sincerity of his repentance.
After Mackworth's expulsion, and under Whalley's good government, the
state of the Noelites greatly improved. Charlie Evson, for whom, now,
by the by, Kenrick always did everything that lay in his power, became
far more a model among the younger boys than Wilton had ever been, and
there was a final end of suppers, smoking parties, organised cribbing,
and recognised "crams." But just as the house was recovering lost
ground, and had ceased to be quite a byeword in the school, it was
thrown into consternation by a long-continued series of petty thefts.
Small sums were extracted from the boys' jacket pockets after they had
gone to bed; from the play-boxes which were not provided with good locks
and keys; from the private desks in the classrooms, from the
dormitories, and from several of the studies. There was no clue to the
offender, and first of all suspicion fell strongly on the new boy,
little Elgood. A few trifling items of circumstantial evidence seemed
to point him out, and it began to be gradually whispered, no one exactly
knew how or by whom, that he must be the guilty boy. Hints were thrown
out to him to this effect; little bits of paper, on which were written
the words "Thou shalt not steal," or "The devil will have thieves," were
dropped about in his books and wherever he was likely to find them, and
whenever the subject was brought on the tapis his manner was closely
watched. The effect was unsatisfactory; for Elgood was a timid nervous
boy, and the uneasiness to which this nervousness gave rise was set down
as a sign of guilt. At length a sovereign and a half were stolen out of
Whalley's study, and as Elgood, being Whalley's fag, had constant access
to the study, and might very well have known that Whalley had the money,
and in what place he kept it, the prevalent suspicions were confirmed.
The boys, with their usual thoughtless haste, leapt to the conclusion
that he must have been the thief.
The house was in a perfect ferment. However lightly one or two of them,
like Penn, may have thought about taking trifles from small tradesmen,
there was not a single one among them, not even Penn himself, whose
morality did not brand this thieving from schoolfellows as wicked and
mean. The boys felt, too, that it was a stigma on their house, and
unhappily Just at the time when the majority were really anxious to
raise their corporate reputation. Every one was filled with annoyance
and disgust, and felt an anxious determination to discover and give up
the thief.
At last the suspicions against Elgood proceeded so far, that out of mere
justice to him the heads of the house, Whalley, Kenrick, and Bliss,
thought it right that he should be questioned. So, after tea, all the
house assembled in the classroom, and Elgood was formally charged with
the delinquency, and questioned about it, Wilton, in particular, urging
him in almost a bullying tone to surrender and confess. The poor child
was overwhelmed with terror--cried, blushed, answered incoherently, and
lost his head, but would not for a moment confess that he had done it,
and protested his innocence with many sobs and tears.
"Well, I suppose if he persists in denying it, we can't go any further,"
said Kenrick; "but I'm afraid, Elgood, that you must have had something
to do with it, as every one seems to see ground for suspecting you."
"Oh, I hadn't, I hadn't; indeed I hadn't," wailed Elgood; "I wish you
wouldn't say so, Kenrick; indeed I'm innocent, and I'd rather write home
for the money ten times over than be suspected."
"So would any one, you little fool," said Wilton.
"Don't bully him in that way, Wilton," said Whalley; "it's not the way
to get the truth out of him. Elgood, I should have thought you
innocent, if you didn't behave so oddly."
"May I speak?" modestly asked a new voice. The speaker was Charlie
Evson.
"Yes, certainly," said Kenrick, in an encouraging tone.
"Well then, please, Kenrick, and the whole of you, I think you _have_
had the truth out of him; and I think he _is_ innocent."
"Why, Charlie?" said Whalley; "what makes you think so?"
"Because I've asked him, and talked to him privately about it," said
Charlie; "when you frighten him he gets confused, and contradicts
himself, but he can explain whatever looks suspicious if you ask him
kindly and Quietly."
"Bosh!" said Wilton; "who frightened him?"
"Silence, Wilton," said Whalley. "Well, Charlie, will you question him
now for us?"
"That I will," said Charlie, advancing and putting his hand kindly round
Elgood's shoulder, as he seated himself on the desk by which Elgood was
standing. "Will you tell us, as I ask you, all you told me this
morning?"
"Yes," said Elgood eagerly, while his whole manner changed from nervous
tremor to perfect simplicity and quiet new that he had a friend to stand
by him.
"Well, now, about the money you've been spending lately?" questioned
Charlie, with a smile. "You usen't to be so flush of cash, you know, a
month ago."
"I can tell you," answered Elgood; "I had a very large present--large
for me, I mean--three weeks ago. My father sent me a pound, because it
was my birthday, and my big brother and aunt sent me each a pound too."
"I can answer for that being perfectly true," said Charlie, "for I went
with my brother to the post-office this afternoon and asked, and found
that Elgood had had three money-orders changed there. And now, Elgood,
can you trust me with your purse?"
"Of course I can, Charlie," said Elgood, readily producing it, and
almost forgetting that the others were present.
"Ah, well, now you see _I'm_ going to rifle it. Ah! what have we here?
why, here's a whole sovereign, and eight shillings; that looks
suspicious, doesn't it?" said Charlie archly.
"No," said Elgood, laughing; "you went with me yourself when I bought my
desk for eighteen shillings, and the rest--"
"All right," said Charlie. "Look, you fellows: Elgood and I put down
this morning the other things he's bought, and they come to fourteen
shillings. I know they're right, for I didn't like Elgood to be wrongly
suspected, so Walter want with me to the shops; indeed it was chiefly
spent at Coles's"--at which remark they all laughed, for Coles's was the
favourite "tuck shop" of the boys. "Well, now, 1 pound, 8 shillings
plus 18 shillings plus 14 shillings makes 3 pounds, the sum which Elgood
received from home. Is that plain?"
"As plain as a pike-staff," said Bliss; "and you're a little brick,
Evson; and it's a chouse if any one suspects Elgood any more."
Wilton suggested something about Elgood being Whalley's fag.
"Shame, Raven," said Kenrick; "why, what a suspicious fellow you must
be; there's no ground whatever to suspect Elgood now."
"I only want the fellow found out for the honour of the house," said
Wilton, with a sheepish look at this third rebuff.
"Oh, I forgot about that for the moment," said Charlie; "Whalley,
please, you know the time, don't you, when the money was taken from your
desk?"
"Yes; it must have been between four and six, for I saw it safe at four,
and it was gone when I came back after tea."
"Then all right," said Charlie joyfully, "for at that very time, all of
it, Elgood was in my brother's study with me, learning some lessons.
Now then, is Elgood clear?"
"As clear as noonday," shouted several of them, patting the poor child
on the head.
"And really, Charlie, we're all very much obliged to you," said Whalley,
"for setting this matter straight. But now, as it _isn't_ Elgood, who
_is_ the thief? We must all set ourselves to discover."
"And we _shall_ discover," said Bliss; "he's probably here now. Who is
it?" he asked, glancing round. "Well, whoever it is, I don't envy him
his sensations at this minute."
The meeting broke up, and Kenrick accompanied Whalley to his study to
concert further measures.
"Have you any suspicion at all about it, Whalley?"
"Not the least. Have you? No. Well, then, what shall we do?"
"Why the thief isn't likely to visit _your_ study again, Whalley; very
likely he'll come to mine. Suppose we put a little marked money in the
secret drawer. It's rather a joke to call it the _secret_ drawer, for
there's no secret about it; anyhow, it's an open secret."
"Very good; and then?"
"Why, you know the money generally goes at one particular time on
half-holidays. I'm afraid the rogue, whoever he is, has got a taste for
it by this time, and will come to money like a fly to a jam-pot. Now,
outside my room, a few yards off, is the shoe-cupboard; what if you and
I, and a few others, agree to shut ourselves up there in turns, now and
then, on half-holidays between roll-call and tea-time?"
"I see," said Whalley; "well, it's horribly unpleasant, but I'll take my
turn first. Isn't the door usually locked, though?"
"Yes, but so much the better; we can easily get it left open, and the
thief won't suspect an ambuscade. He _must_ be found out, for the sake
of all the boys who are innocent and to wipe out the blot against the
house."
"All right; I'll ensconce myself there to-morrow. I say, Ken, isn't
young Evson a capital fellow? how well he managed to clear Elgood,
didn't he? I declare he taught us all a lesson."
"Yes," said Kenrick; "he's his brother all over; just what Walter was
when he came."
"What, _you_ say that?" said Whalley, smiling and arching his eyebrows.
"Indeed I do," said Kenrick, with some sadness; "I haven't always
thought so, the more's the pity;" and he left the room with a sigh.
After his turn for incarceration in the shoe-cupboard, Bliss complained
loudly that it wasn't large enough to accommodate him, and that it
cramped his long arms and legs, to say nothing of the unpleasant
vicinity of spiders and earwigs. But the others, laughing at him, told
him that, if the experiment was to be of any use whatever, they must
persevere in it, and Bliss allowed himself to be made a victim. For a
time nothing happened, but they had not to wait very long.
One day, Kenrick had been mounting guard for about half an hour, and was
getting very tired, when a light and hasty step passed along the
passage, and into his room. The boy found the study empty, and
proceeded noiselessly to open Kenrick's desk, and examine the contents.
At length he pulled open the secret drawer; it opened with a little
click, and _there_ lay before him two half-sovereigns and some silver.
He was a wary fellow, for he scrutinised these all over most carefully
to see if they were marked, and finding no mark of any kind on them--for
it almost required a microscope to see the tiny scratch between the w.w.
on the smooth edge of the neck--he took out his purse, and was
proceeding to drop them into it, when _a heavy hand was laid upon his
shoulder_, and Kenrick and Wilton--the detected thief--stood face to
face. The purse dropped on the floor.
For a moment they stood silent, staring at each other, and drawing quick
breaths. Wilton stood there pale as death, and looked up at Kenrick
trembling, and with a frightened stare. It was too awful to be so
suddenly surprised; to have had an unknown eye-witness standing by him
all the while that, fancying himself unseen, he was in the very act of
committing that secret deed of sin; to be arrested, detected, exposed,
as the boy whose hidden misdoings had been, for so long, a source of
discomfort, anxiety, and shame.
"_You_, Wilton--_you, you, you_, the disturber of the house, _you_, who
have so long been treated by me as a friend, and allowed at all times to
use my study; _you_, the foremost to throw the suspicion on others!" He
stopped, breathless, for his indignation was rushing in too deep and
strong a torrent to find vent in words.
"O Kenrick, don't tell of me."
"Don't _tell_ of you! Good heavens! is that all you can find to say?
Not one word of sorrow--not one word of shame. Abandoned, heartless,
graceless fellow!"
"I was driven to it, Kenrick, indeed I was. I owed money to Dan, and
to--to other places, and they threatened to tell of me if I didn't pay.
Then Harpour and those fellows quite cleared me out at cards; I believe
they did it by cheating. O, don't tell of me."
"I cannot screen a thief," was the freezing reply; and the change from
flame to ice showed into what commotion his feelings had been thrown.
"Well, then, if it comes to that," said Wilton, turning sullen, "_I'll_
tell of _you_. It'll all come out; remember it was you who first took
me to Dan's, and that's not the only thing I could tell of you. O
Kenrick, don't tell, or it will get us all into trouble."
"This, then, is the creature whom I have suffered to call me friend!"
said Kenrick; "for whom I have given up some of the best friends in the
school! And this is your gratitude! Why, you worm, Wilton, what do you
take me for? Do you think that fear of _your_ disclosures will make me
hush up twenty thefts? You enlist the whole strength of my conscience
against you, lest I should seem to screen you for my own sake. Faugh!
your very touch sickens me!--go!"
"O Kenrick, don't be so angry; I didn't mean to say it; I didn't know
what I was saying; I am driven into a corner by shame and misery. I
know I have been a mean dog; but even if you tell of me, don't crush me
so with your anger, for indeed, indeed, I _have_ been grateful, and have
loved you, Kenrick. But oh, don't tell, I implore, I entreat you, Ken.
How little I thought that I should have to speak to you like this!"
But Kenrick could only say--"_You_ the thief; _you_, the _last_ fellow
of all I should have suspected; _you_ whom I have called friend, O
heavens! Yes, I know that I've done you harm by bad example, I know
that I've much to answer for but at any rate I never taught you to be a
thief."
"But one thing comes of another, Ken; it all came of my being so much
with those brutes, and going to Dan's; it all came of that. I shouldn't
have thought myself that I could do it or do half the bad things I
_have_ done, two months ago. It all came of that; and you used to go
with those fellows, Ken, and you went with me to Dan's;" and the boy
wrung his hands, and wept, and flung himself on his knees. "I must tell
all, if you tell of _me_."
"Say that again," said Kenrick, spurning him scornfully away, "say it
once again, and I go straight to Dr Lane. Poor worm, you don't
understand me, you don't seem to have the capability of a high thought
in you. I tell you that nothing you can say of me shall shake my
purpose. I am going now."
But before he could get his straw hat Wilton had clasped him by the
knees, and in a voice of agony was beseeching him to relent.
"It's all true, Kenrick; I am base, I know it; I have quenched all
honour in me. I won't say that again, but do, for God's sake, forgive
me this once, and not tell of me. O Kenrick, have _you_ never had to
say forgive? Do, do, pity me, as you hope to be forgiven; don't ruin
me, and give me a bad name; I am so young, so young, and have fallen
into bad hands from the first."
He still knelt on the floor, exhausted with the violence of his passion,
hanging his head upon his breast, sobbing as if his heart would break.
It was sad to see him, a mere child still, who might have been so
different, long a little reprobate, and now a convicted thief. His face
bathed in tears, his voice choked with sobs, the memory of the past,
consciousness that much which he said was only too true, touched Kenrick
with compassion; the tears rolled down his own face fast, and he felt
that, though personal fear could not influence him, pity would perhaps
force him to relent, and wring from him in his weakness a reluctant
promise not to disclose Wilton's discovered guilt.
"What can I say to you, Wilton? you know that I have liked you, but I
never thought that you could act like this."
"Nor I, Kenrick, a short time ago; but the devil tempted me, and I have
never learned to resist."
"From my very heart I _do_ pity you; but I fear I _must_ tell; I fear
it's my duty, and I have neglected so many that I dare neglect no more;
though indeed, I'd rather have had any duty but this."
Wilton was again clasping his knees and harrowing his soul by his wild
anguish, imploring to be saved from the horror of open shame, and,
accustomed as Kenrick was to grant anything to this boy, he was reduced
to great distress. Already his whole manner had relented from the
loathing and anger he first displayed. He could stand no more at
present.
"O Wilton," he said, "you will make me ill if you go on like this. I
cannot, must not, will not make you any promise now; but I will think
what to do."
"I will go," said Wilton, deeply abashed; "but before I go, promise me
one thing, Ken, and that is, even if you tell of me, don't quite cast me
off. I shouldn't like to leave and think that I hadn't left _one_
behind me to give me a kind thought sometimes."
"O Ra, Ra, to think that it was _you_ all the while who were committing
all these thefts!"
"You _will_ cast me off then?" said Wilton, in a voice broken by
penitence; "O! what a bitter bitter thing it is to feel shame like
this."
"I have felt it too in my time, Raven. Poor, poor fellow! who am I that
I should cast you off? No, you unhappy child, I may tell of you, but I
will not cease to be fond of you. Go, Wilton; I will decide between
this and tea-time--you may come and hear about it after tea."