A Dog with a Bad Name

By Talbot Baines Reed________________________________________________________________________The story opens in a rather run-down school. There is an unfortunateincident in which a boy is almost killed, and a boy of the name ofJeffreys, not a very popular chap, is held to have been responsible. 

Thus the dog acquires a bad name. Throughout the next few years ofJeffreys' life this incident is brought up against him. He is broughtlower and lower, till eventually he finds somewhere to live in theutmost poverty, amongst the very poor. Here by a twist of fortune heends up looking after some abandoned children. There is a fire, and herescues somebody, but it is only when he gets that person back to hisroom that he realises it is the very person whom he had almost killedall those years before. 

This book is very well written. I have been wondering whether it is abook for teenagers, or a book for adults, and have come to theconclusion that it's for teenagers, but only the really bright ones, asthere is so much food for thought in it. NH. ________________________________________________________________________A DOG WITH A BAD NAME

BY TALBOT BAINES REED

CHAPTER ONE. 

DRY-ROT. 

Bolsover College was in a bad temper. It often was; for as a rule ithad little else to do; and what it had, was usually a less congenialoccupation. 

Bolsover, in fact, was a school which sadly needed two trifling reformsbefore it could be expected to do much good in the world. One was, thatall its masters should be dismissed; the other was, that all its boysshould be expelled. When these little changes had been effected therewas every chance of turning the place into a creditable school; but notmuch chance otherwise. 

For Bolsover College was afflicted with dry-rot. The mischief had begunnot last term or the term before. Years ago it had begun to eat intothe place, and every year it grew more incurable. Occasional effortshad been made to patch things up. A boy had been now and then expelled. A master had now and then "resigned. " An old rule had now and thenbeen enforced. A new rule was now and then instituted. But you can'tpatch up a dry-rot, and Bolsover crumbled more and more the oftener itwas touched. 

Years ago it had dropped out of the race with the other public-schools. Its name had disappeared from the pass list of the University and CivilService candidates. Scarcely a human being knew the name of its head-master; and no assistant-master was ever known to make Bolsover astepping-stone to pedagogic promotion. The athletic world knew nothingof a Bolsover Eleven or Fifteen; and, worse still, no Bolsover boy wasever found who was proud either of his school or of himself. 

Somebody asks, why, if the place was in such a bad way, did parentscontinue to send their boys there, when they had all the public-schoolsin England to choose from? To that the answer is very simple. Bolsoverwas cheap--horribly cheap!

"A high class public-school education, " to quote the words of theprospectus, "with generous board and lodging, in a beautiful midlandcounty, in a noble building with every modern advantage; gymnasium, cricket-field, and a full staff of professors and masters, " forsomething under forty pounds a year, was a chance not to be snuffed atby an economical parent or guardian. And when to these attractions waspromised "a strict attention to morals, and a supervision of wardrobesby an experienced matron, " even the hearts of mothers went out towardsthe place. 

After all, argues many an easy-going parent, a public-school educationis a public-school education, whether dear Benjamin gets it at Eton, orShrewsbury, or Bolsover. We cannot afford Eton or Shrewsbury, but wewill make a pinch and send him to Bolsover, which sounds almost as goodand may even be better. 

So to Bolsover dear Benjamin goes, and becomes a public-school boy. Inthat "noble building" he does pretty much as he likes, and eats verymuch what he can. The "full staff of professors and masters" interferevery little with his liberty, and the "attention to morals" is neverinconveniently obtruded. He goes home pale for the holidays and comesback paler each term. He scuffles about now and then in the play-groundand calls it athletics. He gets up Caesar with a crib and Todhunterwith a key, and calls it classics and mathematics. He loafs about witha toady and calls it friendship. In short, he catches the Bolsover dry-rot, and calls it a public-school training:

What is it makes Benjamin and his seventy-nine school-fellows (forBolsover had its full number of eighty boys this term) in such aparticularly ill-humour this grey October morning? Have his professorsand masters gently hinted to him that he is expected to know his lessonsnext time he goes into class? Or has the experienced matron beenoverdoing her attention to his morals? Ask him. "What!" he says, "don't you know what the row is? It's enough to make anybody shirty. Frampton, this new head-master, you know, he's only been here a week ortwo, he's going to upset everything. I wish to goodness old Mullany hadstuck on, cad as he was. He let us alone, but this beast Frampton'ssmashing the place up. What do you think?--you'd never guess, he's madea rule the fellows are all to tub every morning, whether they like it ornot. What do you call that? I know I'll get my governor to make a rowabout it. It won't wash, I can tell you. What business has he to makeus tub, eh, do you hear? That's only one thing. He came and jawed usin the big room this morning, and said he meant to make footballcompulsory! There! You needn't gape as if you thought I was gammoning. I'm not, I mean it. Football's to be compulsory. Every man Jack's gotto play, whether he can or not. I call it brutal! The only thing is, it won't be done. The fellows will kick. I shall. I'm not going toplay football to please a cad like Frampton, or any other cad!"

What Benjamin says is, for a wonder, the truth. A curious change hadcome over Bolsover since the end of last term. Old Mr Mullany, goodold fossil that he was, had resigned. The boys had heard casually ofthe event at the end of last term. But the old gentleman so seldomappeared in their midst, and when he did, so rarely made any show ofauthority, that the school had grown to look upon him as an inoffensiveold fogey, whose movements made very little difference to anybody. 

It was not till the holidays were over, and Mr Frampton introducedhimself as the new head-master, that Bolsover awoke to the knowledgethat a change had taken place. Mr Frampton--he was not even a "Doctor"or a "Reverend, " but was a young man with sandy whiskers, and a redtie--had a few ideas of his own on the subject of dry-rot. He evidentlypreferred ripping up entire floors to patching single planks, and hepositively scared his colleagues and pupils by the way he set to work. He was young and enthusiastic, and was perhaps tempted to overdo thingsat first. When people are being reformed, they need a little breathingtime now and then; but Mr Frampton seemed to forget it. 

He had barely been in his post a week when two of the under-mastersresigned their posts. Undaunted he brought over two new men, who sharedhis own ideas, and installed them into the vacancies. Then three moreof the old masters resigned; and three more new men took their places. Then the "experienced matron" resigned, and Mrs Frampton took herplace. No sooner was that done than the order went out that every boyshould have a cold bath every morning, unless excused by the doctor. The school couldn't resign, so they sulked, and gasped in the unwelcomeelement, and coughed heart-rendingly whenever they met the tyrant. Thetyrant was insatiate. Before the school could recover from his firstshock, the decree for compulsory football staggered it. 

Compulsory football! Why, half the fellows in the school had never puttheir toes to a football in their lives, and those who had had rarelydone more than punt the leather aimlessly about, when they felt in thehumour to kick something, and nobody or nothing more convenient was athand. But it was useless to represent this to Mr Frampton. 

"The sooner you begin to play the better, " was his reply to all suchobjections. 

But the old goal posts were broken, and the ball was flabby and nearlyworn-out. 

"The new goals and ball are to arrive from London to-day. "

But they had not got flannels or proper clothes to play in. 

"They must get flannels. Every boy must have flannels, and meanwhilethey must wear the oldest shirts and trousers they had. "

Shirts and trousers! Then they weren't even to be allowed to wear coatsand waistcoats this chilly weather! Hadn't they better wait till nextweek, till they could ask leave of their parents, and get their flannelsand practise a bit?

"No. Between now and Saturday they would have two clear days topractise. On Saturday, the Sixth would play the School at threeo'clock. "

And Mr Frampton, there being nothing more to say on this subject, wentoff to see what his next pleasant little surprise should be. Bolsover, meanwhile, snarled over the matter in ill-tempered conclaves in theplay-ground. 

"It's simple humbug, " said Farfield, one of the Sixth. "I defy him tomake me play if I don't choose. "

"I shall stand with my hands in my pockets, and not move an inch, " saidanother. 

"I mean to sit down on the grass and have a nap, " said a third. 

"All very well, " said a youngster, called Forrester; "if you can get allthe other fellows to do the same. But if some of them play, it'll lookas if you funked it. "

"Who cares what it looks like?" said Farfield. "It will look like notbeing made to do what they've no right to make us do--that's all I careabout. "

"Well, I don't know, " said Pridger, another of the Sixth; "if it came tothe School licking us, I fancy I'd try to prevent that. "

"And if it came to the Sixth licking us, " said young Forrester, who wasof the audacious order, "I fancy _I'd_ try to put a stopper on that. "

There was a smile at this, for the valiant junior was small for his age, and flimsily built. Smiles, however, were not the order of the day, andfor the most part Bolsover brooded over her tribulations in sulkysilence. 

The boys had not much in common, and even a calamity like the presentfailed to bring them together. The big boys mooned about and thought oftheir lost liberties, of the afternoons in the tuck-shop, of the yellow-backed novels under the trees, of the loafings down town, and wonderedif they should ever be happy again. The little boys--some of them--weptsecretly in corners, as they pictured themselves among the killed andwounded on the terrible football field. And as the sharp October windcut across the play-ground, they shuddered, great and small, at theprospect of standing there on Saturday, without coats or waistcoats, andwondered if Frampton was designedly dooming them to premature graves. 

A few, a very few, of the more sensible ones, tried to knock up a littlepractice game and prepare themselves for the terrible ordeal. Amongthese were two boys belonging to the group whose conversation the readerhas already overheard. 

One of them, young Forrester, has already been introduced. Junior as hewas, he was a favourite all over Bolsover, for he was about the only boyin the school who was always in good spirits, and did not seem to beinfected with the universal dry-rot of the place. He was a small, handsome boy, older indeed then he looked (for he was nearly fifteen), not particularly clever or particularly jocular. To look at him youwould have thought him delicate, but there was nothing feeble in hismanner. He looked you straight in the face with a pair of brown saucyeyes; he was ready to break his neck to oblige any one; and his pocket-money (fancy a Bolsover boy having pocket-money!) was common property. Altogether he was a phenomenon at Bolsover, and fellows took to himinstinctively, as fellows often do take to one whose character anddisposition are a contrast to their own. Besides this, young Forresterwas neither a prig nor a toady, and devoted himself to no one inparticular, so that everybody had the benefit of his good spirits, andenjoyed his pranks impartially. 

The other boy, who appeared to be about eighteen or nineteen, was of adifferent kind. He, too, was a cut above the average Bolsoverian, forhe was clever, and had a mind of his own. But he acted almost entirelyon antipathies. He disliked everybody, except, perhaps, youngForrester, and he found fault with everything. Scarfe--that was hisname was a Sixth Form boy, who did the right thing because he dislikeddoing what everybody else did, which was usually the wrong. He dislikedhis school-fellows, and therefore was not displeased with Mr Frampton'sreforms; but he disliked Mr Frampton and the new masters, and thereforehoped the school would resist their authority. As for what he himselfshould do, that would depend on which particular antipathy was uppermostwhen the time came. 

Curiously enough, Bolsover by no means disliked Scarfe. They ratherrespected a fellow who had ideas of his own, when they themselves had sofew; and as each boy, as a rule, could sympathise with his dislike ofeverybody else, with one exception, he found plenty of adherents and nota few toadies. 

Forrester was about the only boy he really did not dislike, becauseForrester did not care twopence whether any one liked him or not, and hehimself was quite fond of Scarfe. 

"What do you think the fellows will do?" said the junior, afterattempting for the sixth time to "drop" the ball over the goal withoutsuccess. 

"Why, obey, of course, " said Scarfe scornfully. 

"Shall you?"

"I suppose so. "

"Why, I thought you were going to stick out. "

"No doubt a lot of the fellows would like it if I did. They always likesomebody else to do what they don't care to do themselves. "

"Well, you and I'll be on different sides, " said the youngster, makinganother vain attempt at the goal. "I'm sorry for you, my boy. "

"So am I; I'd like to see the Sixth beaten. But there's not much chanceof it if the kicking's left to you. "

"I tell you what, " said Forrester, ignoring the gibe. "I'm curious toknow what Cad Jeffreys means to do. We're bound to have some fun ifhe's in it. "

"Cad Jeffreys, " said Scarfe, with a slight increase of scorn in his faceand voice, "will probably assist the School by playing for the Sixth. "

Forrester laughed. 

"I hear he nearly drowned himself in the bath the first day, and halfscragged Shrimpton for grinning at him. If he gets on as well atfootball, Frampton will have something to answer for. Why, here hecomes. "

"Suppose you invite him to come and have a knock up with the ball, "suggested the senior. 

The figure which approached the couple was one which, familiar as it wasto Bolsover, would have struck a stranger as remarkable. A big youth, so disproportionately built as to appear almost deformed, till younoticed that his shoulders were unusually broad and his feet and handsunusually large. Whether from indolence or infirmity it was hard tosay, his gait was shambling and awkward, and the strength that lurked inhis big limbs and chest seemed to unsteady him as he floundered top-heavily across the play-ground. But his face was the most remarkablepart about him. The forehead, which overhung his small, keen eyes, waslarge and wrinkled. His nose was flat, and his thick, restless lipsseemed to be engaged in an endless struggle to compel a steadiness theynever attained. It was an unattractive face, with little to redeem itfrom being hideous. The power in it seemed all to centre in its angrybrow, and the softness in its restless mouth. The balance was bad, andthe general impression forbidding. Jeffreys was nineteen, but lookedolder, for he had whiskers--an unpardonable sin in the eyes ofBolsover--and was even a little bald. His voice was deep and loud. Astranger would have mistaken him for an inferior master, or, judgingfrom his shabby garments, a common gardener. 

Those who knew him were in no danger of making that mistake. No boy wasmore generally hated. How he came by his name of Cad Jeffreys no oneknew, except that no other name could possibly describe him. The smallboys whispered to one another that once on a time he had murdered hismother, or somebody. The curious discovered that he was a linealdescendant of Judge Jeffreys, of hanging celebrity. The seniorsrepresented him as a cross between Nero and Caliban, and could notforgive him for being head classic. 

The one thing fellows could appreciate in him was his temper. A childin arms, if he knew the way, could get a rise out of Cad Jeffreys, andin these dull times that was something to be thankful for. 

Forrester was perhaps the most expert of Jeffreys' enemies. He worriedthe Cad not so much out of spite as because it amused him, and, like thenimble matador, he kept well out of reach of the bull all the time hewas firing shots at him. 

"Hullo, Jeff!" he called out, as the Cad approached. "Are you going toplay in the match on Saturday?"

"No, " said Jeffreys. 

"You're not? Haven't you got any old clothes to play in?"

Jeffreys' brow darkened. He glanced down at his own shabby garments, and then at Scarfe's neat suit. 

"I've got flannels, " he said. 

"Flannels! Why don't you play, then? Do you think you won't look wellin flannels? He would, wouldn't he, Scarfe?"

"I don't see how he could look better than he does now, " replied Scarfe, looking at the figure before him. Then noticing the black looks on hisenemy's face, he added--

"Forrester and I were having a little practice at kicking, Jeff. Youmay as well join us, whether you play in the match or not. "

"Why, are you going to play?" asked Jeffreys, not heeding theinvitation. "Frampton has no right to make us do it. "

"Why not? He's head-master. Besides, you can get a doctor'scertificate if you like. "

"No, I can't; I'm not ill. "

"Then you'll have to play, of course. Everybody will, and you'd bettercome and practise with us now. Do you know how to play?"

"Of course I do, " said Jeffreys, "I've played at home. "

"All serene. Have a shot at the goal, then. "

The Cad's experience of football at home must have been of a humbledescription, for his attempt at a kick now was a terrible fiasco. Hemissed the ball completely, and, losing his balance at the same time, fell heavily to the ground. 

"Bravo!" cried Forrester, "I wish I'd learnt football at home; Icouldn't do that to save my life. "

"I slipped, " said Jeffreys, rising slowly to his feet, and flushingcrimson. 

"Did you?" said the irreverent youth. "I thought it was part of theplay. Stand out of the way, though, while I take a shot. "

Before, however, Jeffreys could step aside, a neat and, for a wonder, accurate drop-kick from Forrester sent the ball violently against theside of the unwieldy senior's head, knocking off his hat and nearlyprecipitating him a second time to the earth. 

The storm fairly burst now. As the fleet-footed junior darted past himthe other struck out wildly; but missing his blow, he seized the balland gave a furious kick in the direction of the retreating enemy. 

It was a fine drop-kick, and soared far over the head of its intendedvictim, straight between the goal posts, an undoubted and brilliantgoal. 

Forrester stopped his retreat to applaud, and Scarfe scornfully joined. "Awfully good, " said he; "you certainly must play on Saturday. We'venobody can kick like that. "

"I meant it to hit Forrester, " said Jeffreys, panting with his effort, and his lips nearly white with excitement. 

"Would you like another shot?" called out the young gentleman inquestion. 

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, losing your temper like that, "said Scarfe bitterly. "Couldn't you see he hit you by accident?"

"He did it on purpose, " said Jeffreys savagely. 

"Nonsense. He was aiming at the goal and missed. You did the samething yourself, only you aimed at him. "

"I wish I had hit him!" growled Jeffreys, glaring first at Scarfe, thanat Forrester, and finally shambling off the ground. 

"There's a nice amiable lamb, " said Forrester, as he watched theretreating figure. "I'm sometimes half ashamed to bait him, he does getinto such tantrums. But it's awfully tempting. "

"You'd better keep out of his way the rest of the day, " said Scarfe. 

"Oh, bless you, he'll have worked it off in half an hour. What do youbet I don't get him to do my Latin prose for me this afternoon?"

Forrester knew his man; and that afternoon, as if nothing had happened, the junior sat in the Cad's study, eating some of the Cad's bread andjam while the Cad wrote out the junior's exercise for him. 

CHAPTER TWO. 

A FOOTBALL TRAGEDY. 

The two days' grace which Mr Frampton had almost reluctantly allowedbefore putting into execution his new rule of compulsory athletics toldvery much in his favour. 

Bolsover, after the first shock, grew used to the idea and evenresigned. After all, it would be a variety, and things were preciousdull as they were. As to making a rule of it, that was absurd, andFrampton could hardly be serious when he talked of doing so. But onSaturday, if it was fine, and they felt in the humour--well, they wouldsee about it. 

With which condescending resolution they returned to their loafings andnovels and secret cigarettes, and tried to forget all about MrFrampton. 

But Mr Frampton had no idea of being forgotten. He had theschoolmaster's virtue of enthusiasm, but he lacked the schoolmaster'svirtue of patience. He hated the dry-rot like poison, and could notrest till he had ripped up every board and rafter that harboured it. 

Any ordinary reformer would have been satisfied with the week's work hehad already accomplished. But Mr Frampton added yet another blow atthe very heart of the dry-rot before the week was out. 

On the day before the football match Bolsover was staggered, and, so tospeak, struck all of a heap by the announcement that in future theschool tuck-shop would be closed until after the dinner hour!

Fellows stared at one another with a sickly, incredulous smile when theyfirst heard the grim announcement and wondered whether, after all, thenew head-master _was_ an escaped lunatic. A few gifted with morepresence of mind than others bethought them of visiting the shop and ofdispelling the hideous nightmare by optical demonstration. 

Alas! the shutters were up. Mother Partridge was not at the receipt ofcustom, but instead, written in the bold, square hand of Mr Framptonhimself, there confronted them the truculent notice, "The shop will forthe future be open only before breakfast and after dinner. "

"Brutal!" gasped Farfield, as he read it. "Does he mean to starve us aswell as drown us?"

"Hard lines for poor old Mother Partridge, " suggested Scarfe. 

This cry took. There was somehow a lurking sense of shame which made itdifficult for Bolsover to rise in arms on account of the injury done toitself. Money had been wasted, appetites had been lost, digestions hadbeen ruined in that shop, and they knew it. 

If you had put the question to any one of the boys who crowded down, hungry after their bath, to breakfast on the day of the football match, he would have told you that Frampton was as great a brute as ever, andthat it was a big shame to make fellows play whether they liked it ornot. For all that, he would tell you, _he_ was going to play, much ashe hated it, to avoid a row. And if you had pressed him further hewould have confided to you that it was expected the School would beatthe Sixth, and that he rather hoped, as he must play, he would get achance at the ball before the match was over. From all which you mightgather that Bolsover was reluctantly coming round to take an interest inthe event. 

"Fortune favours the brave, " said Mr Steele, one of his assistants, tothe head-master at dinner-time. "You have conquered before you havestruck, mighty Caesar. "

Mr Frampton smiled. He was flushed and excited. Two days ago he hadseemed to be committed to a desperate venture. Now, a straight pathseemed to open before him, and Bolsover, in his enthusiasticimagination, was already a reformed, reinvigorated institution. 

"Yes, Steele, " said he, as he glanced from the window and watched theboys trooping down towards the meadow. "This day will be remembered atBolsover. "

Little dreamed the brave head-master how truly his prophecy would befulfilled. 

An arrangement had been made to give the small boys a match of theirown. The young gladiators themselves, who had secretly wept over theirimpending doom, were delighted to be removed beyond the reach of thegiants of the Sixth. And the leaders of the School forces were devoutlythankful to be disencumbered of a crowd of meddlesome "kids" who wouldhave spoiled sport, even if they did not litter the ground with theircorpses. 

The sight of the new goal posts and ball, which Mr Freshfield, a juniormaster, was heard to explain was a present from the head-master to theschool, had also a mollifying effect. And the bracing freshness of theair and the self-respect engendered by the sensation of their flannels(for most of the players had contrived to provide themselves with armourof this healthy material) completed their reconciliation to their lot, and drove all feelings of resentment against their tyrant, for thepresent at any rate, quite out of their heads. 

In a hurried consultation of the seniors, Farfield, who was known to bea player, was nominated captain of the senior force; while a similarcouncil of war among the juniors had resulted in the appointment ofRanger of the Fifth to lead the hosts of the School. 

Mr Freshfield, with all the ardour of an old general, assistedimpartially in advising as to the disposition of the field on eitherside; and, for the benefit of such as might be inexperienced at thegame, rehearsed briefly some of the chief rules of the game as playedunder the Rugby laws. 

"Now, are you ready?" said he, when all preliminaries were settled, andthe ball lay, carefully titled, ready for Farfield's kick-off. 

"Wait a bit, " cried some one. "Where's Jeffreys?"

Where, indeed? No one had noticed his absence till now; and one or twoboys darted off to look for him. 

But before they had gone far a white apparition appeared flounderingacross the meadow in the direction of the goals; and a shout of derisivewelcome rose, as Jeffreys, arrayed in an ill-fitting suit of whiteholland, and crowned with his blue flannel cap, came on to the scene. 

"He's been sewing together the pillow-cases to make his trousers, " saidsome one. 

"Think of a chap putting on his dress shirt to play football in, " criedanother. 

"Frampton said we were to wear the oldest togs we'd got, " said a third, "not our Sunday best. "

Jeffreys, as indeed it was intended, heard these facetious remarks onhis strange toilet, and his brow grew heavy. 

"Come on, " said Scarfe, as he drew near, "it wasn't fair to the otherside for you not to play. "

"I couldn't find my boots, " replied the Cad shortly, scowling round him. 

"Perhaps you'll play forward, " said Farfield, "and if ever you don'tknow what to do, go and stand outside those flag posts, and for mercy'ssake let the ball alone. "

"Boo-hoo! I _am_ in such a funk, " cried Forrester with his mockinglaugh. "Thank goodness I'm playing back. "

"Come now, " called Mr Freshfield impatiently, "are you ready? Kickoff, Farfield. Look out, School. "

Next moment the match had begun. 

As might have been expected, there was at first a great deal moreconfusion than play. Bolsover was utterly unused to doing anythingtogether, and football of all games needs united action. 

There was a great deal of scrimmaging, but very few kicks and very fewruns. The ball was half the time invisible, and the other half intouch. Mr Freshfield had time after time to order a throw-in to berepeated, or rule a kick as "off-side. " The more ardent players forgotthe duty of protecting their flanks and rear; and the more timidneglected their chances of "piling up" the scrimmages. The Sixth got inthe way of the Sixth, and the School often spoiled the play of theSchool. 

But after a quarter of an hour or so the chaos began to resolve itself, and each side, so to speak, came down to its bearings. Mr Frampton, ashe walked across from the small boys' match, was surprised as well asdelighted to notice the business-like way in which the best players oneither side were settling down to their work. There was Farfield, flushed and dogged, leading on his forwards, and always on the ball. There was Scarfe, light and dodgy, ready for a run or a neat drop-kickfrom half-back. There was Ranger and Phipps of the Fifth, backing oneanother up like another Nisus and Euryalus. There was young Forrester, merry and plucky, saving his goal more than once by a prompt touch-down. There, even, was the elephantine Jeffreys, snorting and pounding in thethick of the fray, feeling his feet under him, and doing his clumsy bestto fight the battle of his side. 

The game went hard against the School, despite their determined ralliesand gallant sorties. Young Forrester in goal had more than one man'sshare of work; and Scarfe's drops from the rear of the Sixth scrimmageflew near and still nearer the enemy's goal. 

Once, just before half-time, he had what seemed a safe chance, but atthe critical moment Jeffreys' ungainly bulk interposed, and received onhis chest the ball which would certainly have carried victory to hisside. 

"Clumsy lout!" roared Farfield; "didn't I tell you to stand out of theway and not go near the ball--you idiot! Go and play back, do. "

Jeffreys turned on him darkly. 

"You think I did it on purpose, " said he. "I didn't. "

"Go and play back!" repeated Farfield--"or go and hang yourself. "

Jeffreys took a long breath, and departed with a scowl to the rear. 

"Half-time!" cried Mr Freshfield. "Change sides. "

It was a welcome summons. Both sides needed a little breathing space togird themselves for the final tussle. 

The School was elated at having so far eluded actual defeat, andcheerily rallied their opponents as they crossed over. Jeffreys, inparticular, as he made moodily to his new station, came in for theirjocular greetings. 

"Thanks awfully, Cad, old man!" cried one; "we knew you'd give us a legup. "

"My word! doesn't he look pleased with himself!" said another. "Nowonder!"

"Is that the way they taught you to play football at home?" said youngForrester, emphasising his question with an acorn neatly pitched at theCad's ear. 

Jeffreys turned savagely with lifted arm, but Forrester was far beyondhis enemy's reach, and his hand dropped heavily at his own side as hecontinued his sullen march to the Sixth's goal. 

"Are you ready?" shouted Mr Freshfield. "Kick off. Ranger! Look out, Sixth!"

The game recommenced briskly. The School, following up the advantage oftheir kick-off, and cheered by their recent luck, made a desperateonslaught into the enemy's territory, which for a while took all theenergy of the Sixth to repel. 

Phipps and Ranger were irrepressible, and had it not been for the steadyplay of Scarfe and the Sixth backs, that formidable pair of desperadoesmight have turned the tide of victory by their own unaided exertions. 

In the defence of the seniors, Jeffreys, it need hardly be said, took nopart. He stood moodily near one of the posts, still glaring in thedirection of his insulters, and apparently heedless of the fortunes, ofthe game. 

His inaction, however, was not destined to last long. 

The second half game had lasted about a quarter of an hour, and theSchool was still stubbornly holding their advanced position in theproximity of the enemy's goal, when the ball suddenly, and by one ofthose mysterious chances of battle, burst clear of the scrimmage anddarted straight to where Jeffreys stood. 

"Pick it up and run--like mad!" shouted Farfield. 

With a sudden swoop which astonished his beholders the Cad pounced onthe ball and started to run in the direction of the ill-protected goalof the School. 

Till they saw him in motion with an almost clear field ahead, no one hadhad any conception how powerfully he was built or how fast he could run. The School, rash and sanguine of victory, had pressed to the front, leaving scarcely half a dozen behind to guard their rear. 

Three of these Jeffreys had passed before the School was well aware whathe was doing. Then a shout of consternation arose, mingled with thefrantic cheers of the Sixth. 

"Collar him! Have him over! Stop him there! Look out in goal!"

But Jeffreys was past stopping. Like a cavalry charger who dashes on tothe guns heedless of everything, and for the time being gone mad, so theBolsover Cad, with the shouts behind him and the enemy's goal in front, saw and heard nothing else. The two men who stepped out at him werebrushed aside like reeds before a boat's keel; and with half the fieldbefore him only one enemy remained between him and victory. 

That enemy was young Forrester! There was something almost terrible inthe furious career of the big boy as he bore down on the fated goal. Those behind ceased to pursue, and watched the result in breathlesssuspense. 

Even the saucy light on Forrester's face faded as he hesitated a momentbetween fear and duty. 

"Collar him there!" shouted the School. 

"He'll pass him easily, " said the Sixth. 

Forrester stepped desperately across his adversary's path, resolved todo his duty, cost what it might. 

Jeffreys never swerved from his course, right or left. 

"He's going to charge the youngster!" gasped Farfield. 

Forrester, who had counted on the runner trying to pass him, becamesuddenly aware that the huge form was bearing straight down upon him. 

The boy was no coward, but for a moment he stood paralysed. 

That moment was fatal. There was a crash, a shout! Next momentJeffreys was seen staggering to his feet and carrying the ball behindthe goal. But no one heeded him. Every eye was turned to where youngForrester lay on his back motionless, with his face as white as death. 

CHAPTER THREE. 

GONE!

It would be difficult to picture the horror and dismay which followedthe terrible termination to the football match described in our lastchapter. 

For a second or two every one stood where he was, as if rooted to theground. Then with an exclamation of horror Mr Freshfield bounded tothe side of the prostrate boy. 

"Stand back and give him air!" cried the master, as the school closedround and gazed with looks of terror on the form of their companion. Helay with one arm above his head just as he had fallen. His cap lay ayard or two off where he had tossed it before making his final charge. His eyes were closed, and the deathly pallor of his face was unmoved byeven a quiver of life. 

"He's dead!" gasped Farfield. 

Mr Freshfield, who had been hastily loosening Forrester's collar, andhad rested his hand for an instant on his heart, looked up with a facealmost as white as the boy's and said--

"Go for the doctor!--and some water. "

Half a dozen boys started--thankful to do anything. Before the ringcould close up again the ungainly form of Jeffreys, still panting fromhis run, elbowed his way to the front. As his eyes fell on the form ofhis victim his face turned an ashy hue. Those who watched him saw thathe was struggling to speak, but no words came. He stood like one turnedsuddenly to stone. 

But not for long. 

With a cry something resembling a howl, the school by a suddensimultaneous movement turned upon him. 

He put up his hand instinctively, half-deprecatingly, half in self-defence. Then as his eyes dropped once more on the motionless form overwhich Mr Freshfield was bending, he took half a step forward andgasped, "I did not--"

Whatever he had intended to say was drowned by another howl ofexecration. The sound of his voice seemed to have opened the floodgatesand let loose the pent-up feelings of the onlookers. A score of boysrushed between him and his victim and hustled him roughly out of thering. 

"Murderer!" cried Scarfe as he gave the first thrust. 

And amidst echoes of that terrible cry the Cad was driven forth. 

Once he turned with savage face, as though he would resist and fight hisway back into the ring. But it was only for a moment. It may have beena sudden glimpse of that marble face on the grass, or it may have beenterror. But his uplifted hand fell again at his side, and he draggedhimself dejectedly to the outskirts of the crowd. 

There he still hovered, his livid face always turned towards the centre, drinking in every sound and marking every movement, but not attemptingagain to challenge the resentment of his school-fellows by attempting toenter the awe-struck circle. 

It seemed an age before help came. The crowd stood round silent andmotionless, with their eyes fixed on the poor lifeless head which restedon Mr Freshfield's knee; straining their eyes for one sign ofanimation, yearning still more for the arrival of the doctor. 

Mr Freshfield did not dare to lift the form, or even beyond gentlyraising the head, to move it in any way. How anxiously all watched as, when the water arrived, he softly sponged the brow and held the glass tothe white lips!

Alas! the dark lashes still drooped over those closed eyes, and as eachmoment passed Bolsover felt that it stood in the shadow of death. 

At last there was a stir, as the sound of wheels approached in the lane. And presently the figure of the doctor, accompanied by Mr Frampton, was seen running across the meadow. 

As they reached the outskirts of the crowd, Jeffreys laid his hand onthe doctor's arm with an appealing gesture. 

"I did not mean--" he began. 

But the doctor passed on through the path which the crowd opened for himto the fallen boy's side. 

It was a moment of terrible suspense as he knelt and touched the boy'swrist, and applied his ear to his chest. Then in a hurried whisper heasked two questions of Mr Freshfield, then again bent over theinanimate form. 

They could tell by the look on his face as he looked up that there washope--for there was life!

"He's not dead!" they heard him whisper to Mr Frampton. 

Still they stood round, silent and motionless. The relief itself wasterrible. He was not dead, but would those deep-fringed eyes ever openagain?

The doctor whispered again to Mr Frampton and Mr Freshfield, and thetwo passed their hands under the prostrate form to lift it. But beforethey could do so the doctor, who never took his eyes off the boy's face, held up his hand suddenly, and said "No! Better have a hurdle, "pointing to one which lay not far off on the grass. 

A dozen boys darted for it, and a dozen more laid their coats upon it tomake a bed. Once more, amid terrible suspense, they saw the helplessform raised gently and deposited on the hurdle. A sigh of reliefescaped when the operation was over, and the sad burden, supported ateach corner by the two masters, Scarfe and Farfield, began to moveslowly towards the school. 

"Slowly, and do not keep step. Above all things avoid a jolt, " said thedoctor, keeping the boy's hand in his own. 

The crowd opened to let them pass, and then followed in mournfulprocession. 

As the bearers passed on, Jeffreys, who all this time had beenforgotten, but who had never once turned his face from where Forresterlay, stepped quickly forward as though to assist in carrying the litter. 

His sudden movement, and the startling gesture that accompanied it, disconcerted the bearers, and caused them for a moment to quicken theirstep, thus imparting an unmistakable shock to the precious burden. 

The doctor uttered an exclamation of vexation and ordered a halt. "Stand back, sir!" he cried angrily, waving Jeffreys back; "a jolt likethat may be fatal!"

An authority still more potent than that of the doctor was at hand toprevent a recurrence of the danger. Jeffreys was flung out of reach ofthe litter by twenty angry hands and hounded out of the procession. 

He did not attempt to rejoin it. For a moment he stood and watched itas it passed slowly on. A cold sweat stood on his brow, and everybreath was a gasp. Then he turned slowly back to the spot whereForrester had fallen, and threw himself on the ground in a paroxysm ofrage and misery. It was late and growing dark as he re-entered theschool. There was a strange, weird silence about the place thatcontrasted startlingly with the usual evening clamour. The boys weremostly in their studies or collected in whispering groups in theschoolrooms. 

As Jeffreys entered, one or two small boys near the door hissed him andran away. Others who met him in the passage and on the stairs glared athim with looks of mingled horror and aversion, which would have frozenany ordinary fellow. 

Jeffreys, however, did not appear to heed it, still less to avoid it. Entering the Sixth Form room, he found most of his colleagues gathered, discussing the tragedy of the day in the dim light of the bay window. So engrossed were they that they never noticed his entrance, and it wasnot till after standing a minute listening to their talk he broke in, inhis loud tones--

"Is Forrester dead?"

The sound of his voice, so harsh and unexpected, had the effect of anexplosion in their midst. 

They recoiled from it, startled and half-scared. Then, quicklyperceiving the intruder, they turned upon him with a howl. 

But this time the Cad did not retreat before them. He held up his handto stop them with a gesture almost of authority. 

"Don't!" he exclaimed. "I'll go. But tell me, some one, is he dead?"

His big form loomed out in the twilight a head taller than any of hiscompanions, and there was something in his tone and attitude that heldthem back. 

"You will be sorry to hear, " said Scarfe, one of the first to recoverhis self-control, and with a double-edge of bitterness in his voice, "that he was alive an hour ago. "

Jeffreys gave a gasp, and held up his hand again. 

"Is there hope for him, then?"

"Not with you in the school, you murderer!" exclaimed Farfield, advancing on the Cad, and striking him on the mouth. 

Farfield had counted the cost, and was prepared for the furiousonslaught which he felt certain would follow. 

But Jeffreys seemed scarcely even to be aware of the blow. He kept hiseyes on Scarfe, to whom he had addressed his last question, and said--

"You won't believe me. I didn't mean it. "

"Don't tell lies, " said Scarfe, "you did--coward!"

Jeffreys turned on his heel with what sounded like a sigh. The fury ofhis companions, which had more than once been on the point of breakingloose in the course of the short conference, vented itself in a howl asthe door closed behind him. And yet, some said to themselves, would amurderer have stood and faced them all as he had done?

The long night passed anxiously and sleeplessly for most of theinhabitants of Bolsover. The event of the day had awed them intosomething like a common feeling. They forgot their own petty quarrelsand grievances for the time, and thought of nothing but poor Forrester. 

The doctor and Mr Frampton never quitted his room all night. Boys who, refusing to go to bed, sat anxiously, with their study doors open, eagerto catch the first sound proceeding from that solemn chamber, waited invain, and dropped asleep where they sat as the night gave place to dawn. Even the masters hovered restlessly about with careworn faces, and fullof misgivings as hour passed hour without tidings. 

At length--it was about ten o'clock, and the school bell was justbeginning to toll for morning chapel--the door opened, and Mr Framptonstepped quickly out of the sick-room. 

"Stop the bell at once!" he said. 

Then Forrester must still be living!

"How is he?" asked a dozen voices, as the head-master passed down thecorridor. 

"There is hope, " said Mr Frampton, "and, thank God! signs of returningconsciousness. "

And with that grain of comfort wearied Bolsover filed slowly intochurch. 

As Mr Frampton reached his study door he found Scarfe and Farfieldwaiting for him. 

"Well?" said he wearily, seeing that they had something to say. "Comein. "

They followed him into the room. 

"Is there really hope?" said Scarfe, who truly loved the injured boy. 

"I think so. He never moved or showed sign of life, except the beatingof his heart, till an hour ago. Then he moved his head and opened hiseyes. "

"Did he know you, sir?"

"The doctor thinks he did. But everything depends now on quiet andcare. "

"We wanted to speak to you, sir, about the--the accident, " said Farfieldwith a little hesitation. 

"Yes. I have hardly heard how it happened, except that he fell inattempting to collar Jeffreys. Was it not so?"

"Yes, sir, " replied Farfield. "But--"

"Well, what?" asked Mr Frampton, noticing his hesitation. 

"We don't feel sure that it was altogether an accident, " said Farfield. 

"What! Do you mean that the boy was intentionally injured?"

"Jeffreys might easily have run round him. Anybody else would. He hadthe whole field to himself, and no one even near him behind. "

"But was it not Forrester who got in front of him?"

"Of course he tried to collar him, sir, " said Scarfe; "but he's only alittle boy, and Jeffreys is a giant. Jeffreys might have fended him offwith his arm, as he did the other fellows who had tried to stop him, orhe might have run round him. Instead of that, "--and here the speaker'svoice trembled with indignation--"he charged dead at him, and ran rightover him. "

Mr Frampton's face clouded over. 

"Jeffreys is a clumsy fellow, is he not?" he asked. 

"Yes, " said Scarfe; "and if it had been any one else than Forrester, weshould all have put it down to his stupidity. "

"You mean, " said the head-master, "that he had a quarrel withForrester?"

"He hated Forrester. Every one knew that. Forrester used to make funof him and enrage him. "

"And you mean to tell me you believe this big boy of nineteen, out ofrevenge, deliberately ran over young Forrester in the way you describe?"

"I'm sure of it, sir, " said Farfield unhesitatingly. 

"No one doubts it, " said Scarfe. 

Mr Frampton took an uneasy turn up and down the room. He hated tale-bearers; but this seemed a case in which he was bound to listen andinquire further. 

"Scarfe and Farfield, " said he, after a long pause, "you know of courseas well as I do the nature of the charge you are bringing against yourschoolfellow--the most awful charge one human being can bring againstanother. Are you prepared to repeat all you have said to me inJeffreys' presence to-morrow, and before the whole school?"

"Certainly, sir, " said both boys. 

"It was our duty to tell you, sir, " said Scarfe; "and only fair to pooryoung Forrester. "

"Nothing less than a sense of duty could justify the bringing of such aterrible accusation, " said the head-master, "and I am relieved that youare prepared to repeat it publicly--to-morrow. For to-day, let us thankGod for the hope He gives us of the poor sufferer. Good-bye. "

Much as he could have wished it, it was impossible for Mr Frampton, wearied out as he was with his night's watching, to dismiss from hismind the serious statement which his two senior boys had made. Theresponsibility which rested on him in consequence was terrible, and itrequired all his courage to face it. 

That afternoon he sent for Mr Freshfield, and repeated to him thesubstance of the accusation against Jeffreys, asking him if he hadnoticed anything calculated to confirm the suspicion expressed by theboys. 

Mr Freshfield was naturally very much startled. 

"If you had not mentioned it, " he said, "I should never have dreamed ofsuch a thing. But I confess I have noticed that Forrester and Jeffreyswere on bad terms. Forrester is a mischievous boy, and Jeffreys, whoyou know is rather a lout, seems to have been his special butt. I amafraid, too, that Jeffreys' short temper rather encouraged histormentors. "

"Yes, but about the accident, " said Mr Frampton; "you were on theground, you know. Did you notice anything then?"

"There was a little horseplay as the sides were changing over at half-time. Forrester, among others, was taunting Jeffreys with a bad pieceof play, and threw something at him. I was rather struck by the lookalmost of fury which passed across Jeffreys' face. But it seemed to mehe got better of his feelings with an effort and went on without heedingwhat was said to him. "

"That was not long before the accident?"

"About a quarter of an hour. His run down the field at the last wasreally a good piece of play, and every one seemed surprised. But therewas any amount of room and time to get past Forrester instead ofcharging right on to him. It's possible, of course, he may have losthis head and not seen what he was doing. "

Mr Frampton shrugged his shoulders. 

"Well, " said he with a dejected look, "I wish you could have told meanything but what you have. At any rate, to-morrow morning the mattermust be faced and decided upon. Jeffreys is unpopular in the school, ishe not?"

"Most unpopular, " said Mr Freshfield. 

"That will make our responsibility all the greater, " said the head-master. "He will have every one's hand against him. "

"And you may be quite certain he will do himself injustice. He alwaysdoes. But what of Forrester?"

"He is conscious, and has taken some nourishment; that is all I can say, except, indeed, " added Mr Frampton, with a groan, "that if he lives thedoctor says it will be as a cripple. "

The day dragged wearily on, and night came at last. Most of the boys, worn-out with their last night's vigil, went to bed and slept soundly. The doctor, too, leaving his patient in the charge of a trained nurse, specially summoned, returned home, reporting hopefully of the case as hedeparted. 

In two studies at Bolsover that night, however, there was no rest. Farinto the night Mr Frampton paced to and fro across the floor. Hishopes and ambitions had fallen like a house of cards. The school he hadbeen about to reform and regenerate had sunk in one day lower than everbefore. There was something worse than dry-rot in it now. But MrFrampton was a brave man; and that night he spent in arming himself forthe task that lay before him. Yet how he dreaded that scene to-morrow!How he wished that this hideous nightmare were after all a dream, andthat he could awake and find Bolsover where it was even yesterdaymorning! The other watcher was Jeffreys. He had slept not a wink thenight before, and to-night sleep seemed still more impossible. Had youseen him as he sat there listlessly in his chair, with his gaunt, uglyface and restless lips, you would have been inclined, I hope, to pityhim, cad as he was. Hour after hour he sat there without changing hisposture, cloud after cloud chasing one another across his brow, as theychased one another across the pale face of the moon outside. 

At length, as it seemed, with an effort he rose to his feet and slippedoff his boots. His candle had burned nearly out, but the moon wasbright enough to light his room without it, so he extinguished it andsoftly opened the door. 

The passage was silent, the only sounds being the heavy breathingsomewhere of a weary boy, and the occasional creaking of a board as hecrept along on tip-toe. 

At the end of the passage he turned aside a few steps to a door, andstood listening. Some one was moving inside. There was the rustle of adress and the tinkle of a spoon in a cup. Then he heard a voice, andoh, how his heart beat as he listened!

"I'm tired, " it said wearily. 

That was all. Jeffreys heard the smoothing of a pillow and a woman'ssoothing whisper hushing the sufferer to rest. 

The drops stood in beads on his brow as he stood there and listened. 

In a little all became quiet, and presently a soft, regular breathingtold him that some one was sleeping. 

He put his hand cautiously to the handle and held it there a minutebefore he dared turn it. At last he did so, and opened the door a fewinches. The breathing went regularly on. Inch by inch he pushed thedoor back till he could catch a glimpse in the moonlight of the bed, anda dark head of hair on the pillow. An inch or two more, and he couldsee the whole room and the nurse dozing in the corner. Stealthily, likea thief, he advanced into the room and approached the bed. The suffererwas lying motionless, and still breathing regularly. 

Jeffreys took a step forward to look at his face. At that moment themoonlight streamed in at the window and lit up the room. Then, to histerror, he noticed that the patient was awake, and lying with eyes wideopen gazing at the ceiling. Suddenly, and before Jeffreys couldwithdraw, the eyes turned and met his. For an instant they rested therevacantly, then a gasp and a shriek of horror proclaimed that Forresterhad recognised him. 

In a moment he was outside the door, and had closed it before the nursestarted up from her slumber. 

He had not been in his study a minute when he heard a sound of footstepsand whispered voices without. The boy's cry had reached the wakefulears of Mr Frampton, and already he was on his way to the sick-chamber. 

Jeffreys sank down on his bed in an agony of terror and suspense. Theboy's cry resounded in his ears and deafened him, till at last he couldendure it no longer. 

Next morning, when the school was gathered in the hall, after prayers, Mr Frampton, looking round him, missed the figure that was uppermost inhis thoughts. 

"Will some one tell Jeffreys to come here?" he said. 

Mr Freshfield went, but returned suddenly to announce that Jeffreys'study was empty, and that a rope formed of sheets suspended from hiswindow made it evident he had escaped in the night and quitted Bolsover. 

CHAPTER FOUR. 

GONE AGAIN. 

On the evening following Jeffreys' departure from Bolsover, a middle-aged, handsome gentleman was sitting in his comfortable study in thecity of York, whistling pleasantly to himself. 

The house in which he lived was a small one, yet roomy enough for an oldbachelor. And what it wanted in size it made up for in the elegance andluxury of its furniture and adornments. 

Mr Halgrove was evidently a connoisseur in the art of making himselfcomfortable. Everything about him was of the best, and bespoke not onlya man of taste but a man of means. The books on the shelves--and wherecan you find any furniture to match a well-filled bookcase?--were wellchosen and well bound. The pictures on the walls were all works of artand most tastefully hung. The knickknacks scattered about the room wereornamental as well as useful. Even the collie dog which lay luxuriouslyon the hearthrug with one eye half open was as beautiful as he wasfaithful. 

Mr Halgrove whistled pleasantly to himself as he stirred his coffee andglanced down the columns of the London paper. 

If you had looked over his shoulder, you would have come to theconclusion that Mr Halgrove's idea of what was interesting in anewspaper and your own by no means coincided. 

He was, in fact, reading the money article, and running his eyeskilfully among the mazes of the stocks and shares there reported. 

Suddenly there was a ring at the hall door and a man's voice in thehall. Next moment the study door opened, and amid the franticrejoicings of Julius, John Jeffreys walked into the presence of hisguardian. He was haggard and travel-stained, and Mr Halgrove, in themidst of his astonishment, noticed that his boots were nearly in pieces. Bolsover was fifty-five miles from York, and the roads were rough andstony. The guardian, whatever astonishment he felt at this unexpectedapparition, gave no sign of it in his face, as he sat back in his chairand took several quiet whiffs of his weed before he addressed hisvisitor. 

"Ah!" said he, "you've broken up early. "

"No, sir, " said Jeffreys. "Please may I have something to eat?"

"Help yourself to the bread and butter there, " said Mr Halgrove, pointing to the remains of his own tea, "and see if you can squeezeanything out of the coffee-pot. If not, ring for some more hot water. Lie down, Julius!"

Jeffreys ate the bread and butter ravenously, and drank what was left inthe coffee-pot and milk-jug. 

Mr Halgrove went on with his cigar, watching his ward curiously. 

"The roads are rough for walking this time of the year, " observed he. 

"Yes, " said Jeffreys; "I've walked all the way. "

"Good exercise, " said Mr Halgrove. "How long did it take you?"

"I left Bolsover at half-past four this morning. "

Mr Halgrove looked at his watch. 

"Fifteen hours--a fairly good pace, " said he. 

A silence ensued, during which time guardian and ward remained eyeingone another, the one curiously, the other anxiously. 

"Why not sit down, " said Mr Halgrove, when it became evident his wardwas not going to open the conversation, "after your long walk?"

Jeffreys dropped heavily into the chair nearest to him and Julius cameup and put his head between his knees. 

"Do you often take country walks of this sort?" said the guardian. 

"No, sir; I've run away from Bolsover. "

Mr Halgrove raised his eyebrows. 

"Indeed! Was it for the fun of the thing, or for any special reason?"

"It was because I have killed a boy, " said Jeffreys hoarsely. 

It spoke volumes for Mr Halgrove's coolness that he took this alarmingannouncement without any sign of emotion. 

"Have you?" said he. "And was that for fun, or for any special reason?"

"I didn't mean it; it was an accident, " said Jeffreys. 

"Is the story worth repeating?" asked the guardian, knocking the ash offthe end of the cigar, and settling himself in his chair. 

Jeffreys told the story in a blundering, mixed-up way, but quite clearlyenough for Mr Halgrove. 

"So you meant to run at him, though you didn't mean to kill him?" saidhe, when the narrative was ended. 

"I did not mean to kill him, " repeated the boy doggedly. 

"Of course it would not occur to you that you were twice his size andweight, and that running over him meant--well manslaughter. "

"I never thought it for a moment--not for a moment. "

"Was the accident fatal, at once, may I ask?"

"No, sir; he was brought to the school insensible, and remained so formore than twelve hours. Then he became conscious, and seemed to bedoing well. "

"A temporary rally, I suppose?" observed the guardian. 

Jeffreys' mouth worked uneasily, and his pale brow became overcastagain. 

"No, I believe if it hadn't been for me he might have recovered. "

"Indeed, " said the other, once more raising his eyebrows; "what furtherattention did you bestow on him--not poison, I hope?"

"No, but I went to his room in the middle of the night and startled him, and gave him a shock. "

"Yes; playing bogey is liable to alarm invalids. I have alwaysunderstood so, " said Mr Halgrove drily. 

"I didn't mean to startle him. I fancied he was asleep, and just wantedto see how he seemed to be getting on. No one would tell me a wordabout him, " said Jeffreys miserably. 

"And that killed him outright?"

"I'm afraid it must have, " said Jeffreys. "The doctor had said theleast shock would be fatal, and this was a very great shock. "

"It would be. You did not, however, wait to see?"

"No; I waited an hour or two, and then I ran away. "

"Did you say good-bye to the head-master before leaving?"

"No; nobody knew of my going. "

"Of course you left your address behind you, in case you should beinvited to attend the inquest. "

"They know where I live, " said Jeffreys. 

"Indeed! And may _I_ ask where you live?"

The ward's face fell at the question. 

"Here, sir, " faltered he. 

"Pardon me, I think you are mistaken, John Jeffreys. "

Jeffreys looked hard at his guardian, as if to ascertain whether or nothe spoke seriously. His one longing at that moment was for food andrest. Since Saturday morning his eyes had never closed, and yet, strange as it may seem, he could take in no more of the future than whatlay before him on this one night. The sudden prospect now of beingturned out into the street was overwhelming. 

"I think you are mistaken, " repeated Mr Halgrove, tossing the end ofhis cigar into the fireplace and yawning. 

"But, sir, " began Jeffreys, raising himself slowly to his feet, for hewas stiff and cramped after his long journey, "I've walked--"

"So you said, " interrupted Mr Halgrove, incisively. "You will be usedto it. "

At that moment Jeffreys decided the question of his night's lodging in amost unlooked-for manner by doing what he had never done before, andwhat he never did again. 

He fainted. 

When he next was aware of anything he was lying in his own bed upstairsin broad daylight, and Mr Halgrove's housekeeper was depositing a traywith some food upon it at his side. He partook gratefully, and droppedoff to sleep again without rousing himself enough to recall the eventsof the past evening. When, however, late in the afternoon, he awoke, and went over in his mind the events of the last few days, a dismalfeeling of anxiety came over him and dispelled the comfort of hispresent situation. He got out of bed slowly and painfully, for he wasvery stiff and footsore. He knew not at what moment his guardian mightreturn to the unpleasant topic of last night's conversation, and heresolved to end his own suspense as speedily as possible. He took abath and dressed, and then descended resolutely but with sad misgivingsto the library. Mr Halgrove was sitting where his ward had left himyesterday evening. 

"Ah, " said he, as the boy entered, "early rising's not your strongpoint, is it?"

"I only woke half an hour ago. "

"And you are anxious, of course, to know whether you have been inquiredfor by the police?" said the guardian, paring his nails. 

Jeffreys' face fell. 

"Has some one been?" he asked. "Have you heard anything?"

"No one has been as yet except the postman. He brought me a letter fromBolsover, which will probably interest you more than it does me. It'sthere on the table. "

Jeffreys took up a letter addressed in Mr Frampton's hand. 

"Am I to read it?"

"As you please. "

Jeffreys opened the letter and read:--

"Bolsover, _October_ 12. 

"S. Halgrove, Esq. 

"Dear Sir, --I regret to inform you that your ward, John Jeffreys, leftBolsover secretly last night, and has not up to the present momentreturned. If he has returned to you, you will probably have learned bythis time the circumstances which led him to take the step he has. (Here Mr Frampton briefly repeated the story of the football accident. )The patient still lingers, although the doctors do not at present holdout much hope of ultimate recovery. I am not inclined to credit thestatement current in the school with regard to the sad event, that theinjury done to the small boy was not wholly due to accident. Still, under the grave circumstances, which are made all the more serious byyour ward's flight, I suggest to you that you should use your authorityto induce Jeffreys to return here--at any rate for as long asForrester's fate remains precarious; or, failing that, that you shouldundertake, in the event of a legal inquiry being necessary, that heshall be present if required. 

"Faithfully yours, --

"T. Frampton. "

"Pleasant letter, is it not?" said Mr Halgrove as Jeffreys replaced itin its envelope and laid it again on the table. 

"I can't go back to Bolsover, " said he. 

"No? You think you are not appreciated there?"

Jeffreys winced. 

"But I will undertake to go there if--"

"If the coroner invites you, eh?"

"Yes, " replied the boy. 

"The slight difficulty about that is that it is I, not you, that amasked to make the undertaking. "

"But you will, won't you?" asked Jeffreys eagerly. 

"I have the peculiarity of being rather particular about the people Igive undertakings for, " said Mr Halgrove, flicking a speck of dust offhis sleeve; "it may be ridiculous, but I draw the line at homicide. "

"You're a liar!" exclaimed the ward, in a burst of fury, which, however, he repented of almost before the words had escaped him. 

Mr Halgrove was not in the slightest degree disturbed by this undutifuloutbreak, but replied coolly, --

"In that case, you see, my undertaking would be worth nothing. No. What do you say to replying to Mr Frampton's suggestion yourself?"

"I will write and tell him I will go whenever he wants me. "

"The only objection to that, " observed the guardian, "will be thedifficulty in giving him any precise address, will it not?"

Jeffreys winced again. 

"You mean to turn me adrift?" said he bluntly. 

"Your perception is excellent, my young friend. "

"When?"

Mr Halgrove looked at his watch. 

"I believe Mrs Jessop usually locks up about eleven. It would be apity to keep her up after that hour. "

Jeffreys gulped down something like a sigh and turned to the door. 

"Not going, are you?" said the guardian. "It's early yet. "

"I am going, " replied the ward quietly. 

"By the way, " said Mr Halgrove, as he reached the door, "by the way, John--"

Jeffreys stopped with his hand on the latch. 

"I was going to say, " said the guardian, rising and looking for hiscigar-case, "that the little sum of money which was left by your father, and invested for your benefit, has very unfortunately taken to itselfwings, owing to the failure of the undertaking in which it happened tobe invested. I have the papers here, and should like to show them toyou, if you can spare me five minutes. "

Jeffreys knew nothing about money. Hitherto his school fees had beenpaid, and a small regular allowance for pocket-money had been sent himquarterly by his guardian. Now his guardian's announcement conveyedlittle meaning to him beyond the fact that he had no money to countupon. He never expected he would have; so he was not disappointed. 

"I don't care to see the papers, " he said. 

"You are a philosopher, my friend, " said his guardian. "But I havesufficient interest in you, despite your financial difficulties, tobelieve you might find this five-pound note of service on your travels. "

"No, thank you, " said Jeffreys, putting his hand behind his back. 

"Don't mention it, " said his guardian, returning it to his pocket. "There is, when I come to think of it, " added he, "a sovereign whichreally belongs to you. It is the balance of your last quarter'sallowance, which I had been about to send to you this week. I wouldadvise you to take it. "

"Is it really mine?"

"Pray come and look over the accounts. I should like to satisfy you. "

"If it is really mine I will take it, " said the boy. 

"You are sensible, " said his guardian, putting it into his hand. "Youare perfectly safe in taking it. It is yours. It will enable you tobuy a few postage stamps. I shall be interested to hear of yoursuccess. Good-bye. "

Jeffreys, ignoring the hand which was held out to him, walked silentlyfrom the room. Mr Halgrove stood a moment and listened to theretreating footsteps. Then he returned to his chair and rang the bell. 

"Mrs Jessop, " said he, "Mr Jeffreys is going on a journey. Will youkindly see he has a good meal before starting?"

Mrs Jessop went upstairs and found Jeffreys writing a letter. 

"Master says you're going a journey, sir. "

"Yes. I shall be starting in half an hour. "

"Can't you put it off till to-morrow, sir?"

"No, thanks. But I want to finish this letter. "

"Well, sir, there'll be some supper for you in the parlour. It'smaster's orders. "

Jeffreys' letter was to Mr Frampton. 

"Sir, " he wrote, "I left Bolsover because I could not bear to be thereany longer. I did not mean to injure Forrester so awfully, though I waswicked enough to have a spite against him. I am not a murderer, thoughI am as bad as one. If I could do anything to help Forrester get betterI would come, but I should only make everything worse. My guardian hasturned me away, and I shall have to find employment. But thehousekeeper here, Mrs Jessop, will always know where I am, and send onto me if I am wanted. I should not think of hiding away till I hearthat Forrester is better. If he dies I should not care to live, so Ishould be only too glad to give myself up. I cannot come back toBolsover now, even if I wanted, as I have only a pound, and my guardiantells me that is all the money I have in the world. Please write andsay if Forrester is better. I am too miserable to write more. 

"Yours truly, --

"John Jeffreys. "

Having finished this dismal letter, he packed up one or two of histhings in a small handbag and descended to the parlour. There he foundan ample supper provided for him by the tender-hearted Mrs Jessop, whohad a pretty shrewd guess as to the nature of the "journey" that hermaster's ward was about to take. But Jeffreys was not hungry, and theannouncement that the meal was there by the "master's orders" turned himagainst it. 

"I can't eat anything, thank you, " he said to Mrs Jessop, "you gave mesuch a good tea only a little while ago. "

"But you've a long journey, Master John. Is it a long journey, sir?"

"I don't know yet, " he said. "But I want you to promise to send me onany letter or message that comes, will you?"

"Where to?"

"To the head post-office, here. "

"Here? Then you're not going out of York?"

"Not at first. I'll let you know when I go where to send on theletters. "

"Mr John, " said the housekeeper, "the master's turned you away. Isn'tthat it?"

"Perhaps he's got a reason for it. Good-bye, Mrs Jessop. "

"Oh, but Mr John--"

But John interrupted her with a kiss on her motherly cheek, and nextmoment was gone. 

CHAPTER FIVE. 

FREDDY AND TEDDY. 

John Jeffreys, as he stood in the street that October evening, had nomore idea what his next step was to be than had Mr Halgrove or themotherly Mrs Jessop. He was a matter-of-fact youth, and not much givento introspection; but the reader may do well on this particular occasionto take a hasty stock of him as he walked aimlessly down the darkeningstreet. 

He was nineteen years old. In appearance he was particularly ugly inface and clumsy in build. Against that, he was tall and unusuallypowerful whenever he chose to exert his strength. In mind he wasreputed slow and almost stupid, although he was a good classical scholarand possessed a good memory. He was cursed with a bad and sometimesungovernable temper. He was honest and courageous. He rarely knew howto do the right thing at the right time or in the right place. Andfinally he had a bad name, and believed himself to be a homicide. Suchwas the commonplace creature who, with a sovereign in his pocket and thewhole world before him, paced the streets of York that Tuesday night. 

On one point his mind was made up. He must remain in York for thepresent, prepared at a moment's notice to repair to Bolsover, should thedreaded summons come. With that exception, as I have said, his mind wasopen, and utterly devoid of ideas as to the future. 

He directed his steps to the poor part of the town, not so much becauseit was poor, as because it was farthest away from his guardian's. Heresolved that to-night at any rate he would indulge in the luxury of abed, and accordingly, selecting the least repulsive-looking of a numberof tenements offering "Cheap beds for Single Men, " he turned in anddemanded lodging. To the end of his days he looked back on the "cheapbed" he that night occupied with a shudder. And he was by no means aSybarite, either. Happily, he had still some sleep to make up; anddespite his foul bed, his unattractive fellow-lodgers, and his owndismal thoughts, he fell asleep, in his clothes and with his bag underhis pillow, and slept till morning. 

He partook of a cheap breakfast at a coffee-stall on one of the bridges, and occupied the remainder of the time before the opening of businesshouses in wandering about on the city walls, endeavouring to make up hismind what calling in life he should seek to adopt. He had not decidedthis knotty point when the minster chimes struck ten, and reminded himthat he was letting the precious moments slip. So he descended into thestreets, determined to apply for the first vacancy which presenteditself. 

Wandering aimlessly on, he came presently upon a bookseller's shop, outside which were displayed several trays of second-hand volumes whichattracted his attention. Jeffreys loved books and was a voraciousreader, and in the midst of his wearisome search for work it was like alittle harbour of refuge to come upon a nest of them here. Just, however, as he was about to indulge in the delicious luxury of turningover the contents of the tempting trays, his eye was attracted by ahalf-sheet of note-paper gummed on to the shop window and bearing theinscription, "Assistant wanted. Apply within. "

Next instant Jeffreys stood within. 

"I see you want an assistant, " said he to the old spectacled booksellerwho inquired his business. 

"That's right. "

"Will you take me?"

The man glanced up and down at his visitor and said doubtfully, --

"Don't know you--are you in the trade?"

"No, I've just left school. "

"What do you know about books?"

"I love them, " replied the candidate simply. 

The bookseller's face lit up and shot a glow of hope into the boy'sheart. 

"You love them. I like that. But take my advice, young fellow, and ifyou love books, don't turn bookseller. "

Jeffreys' face fell. 

"I'm not afraid of getting to hate them, " said he. 

The man beamed again. 

"What's your name, my lad?"

"John Jeffreys. "

"And you've just left school? What school?"

Alas! poor Jeffreys! It cost him a struggle to utter the name. 

"Bolsover. "

"Bolsover, eh? Do you know Latin?"

"Yes--and Greek, " replied the candidate. 

The bookseller took up a book that lay on the table. It was an old andvaluable edition of Pliny's _Epistles_. 

"Read us some of that. "

Jeffreys was able fairly well to accomplish the task, greatly to thedelight of the old bookseller. 

"Capital! You're the first chap I ever had who could read Pliny off. "

Jeffreys' face lit up. The man spoke as if the thing was settled. 

"How will fifteen shillings a week and your meals suit you?" said he. 

"Perfectly!" replied the candidate. 

"Hum! you've got a character, of course?"

Poor Jeffreys' face fell. 

"Do you mean testimonials?"

"No. You can refer to some one who knows you--your old schoolmaster, for instance. "

"I'm afraid not, " faltered the boy. 

The man looked perplexed. 

"Couldn't get a character from him--why not?"

"Because I ran away from school. "

"Oh, oh! Did they ill-treat you, then, or starve you? Come; bettertell the truth. "

"No--it wasn't that. It was because--" Jeffreys gave one longing lookat the shelves of beloved books, and an appealing glance at hisquestioner--"It was because I--nearly killed a boy. "

The man whistled and looked askance at his visitor. 

"By accident?"

"Partly. Partly not. But I assure you--"

"That will do, " said the man; "that's quite enough. Be off!"

Jeffreys departed without another word. Like Tantalus, the temptingfruit had been within reach, and his evil destiny had come in to dash itfrom his lips. Was it wonderful if he felt disposed to give it up andin sheer desperation go back to Bolsover?

The whole of the remainder of that day was spent in spiritless wanderingabout the streets. Once he made another attempt to obtain work, thistime at a merchant's office. But again the inconvenient question ofcharacter was raised, and he was compelled to denounce himself. Thistime his confession was even more unfeelingly received than at thebookseller's. 

"How dare you come here, you scoundrel?" exclaimed the merchant in arage. 

"Don't call me a scoundrel!" retorted Jeffreys, his temper suddenlybreaking out. 

"I'll call a policeman if you are not out of here in half a minute. Here, you boys, " added he, calling his six or eight clerks, "turn thiswretch out of the place. Do you hear?"

Jeffreys spared them the trouble and stepped into the street, determinedto die before he laid himself open to such an indignity again. 

His last night's experience at a common lodging-house did not tempt himto seek shelter again now, and as it was a fine mild night even at thattime of year he trudged out of York into one of the suburbs, where atleast everything was clean and quiet. He had the good fortune in acountry lane to come across a wagon laid up by the roadside, just insidea field--a lodging far more tempting than that offered by Mr Josephs, and considerably cheaper. The fatigues and troubles of the day operatedlike a feather-bed for the worn-out and dispirited outcast, and he sleptsoundly, dreaming of Forrester, and the bookshop, and the dog Julius. 

Next morning the weary search began again. Jeffreys, as he trudged backto the city, felt that he was embarked on a forlorn hope. Yet a manmust live, and a sovereign cannot last for ever. He passed a railwayembankment where a gang of navvies were hard at work. As he watchedthem he felt half envious. They had work to do, they had homes toreturn to at night, they had characters, perhaps. Most of them were bigstrong fellows like himself. Why should he not become one of them? Hefancied he could wheel a barrow, and ply a crowbar, and dig with aspade, as well as any of them; he was not afraid of hard work any morethan they were, and the wages that kept a roof over their heads wouldsurely keep a roof over his. 

As he sat on a bank by the roadside and watched them, he had almostresolved to walk across to the foreman and ask for a job, when the soundof voices close to him arrested him. 

They were boys' voices, and their talk evidently referred to himself, "Come along, Teddy, " said one. "He won't hurt. "

"I'm afraid, " said the other. "He's so ugly. "

"Perhaps that's how he gets his living--scaring the crows, " said thefirst speaker. 

"He looks as if he meant to kill us. "

"I shall fight him if he tries. "

Jeffreys looked round and had a view of the valiant speaker and hiscompanion. 

They were two neatly dressed little fellows, hand-in-hand, and evidentlybrothers. The younger--he who considered his life in danger--was abouteight, his intrepid brother being apparently about a year his senior. They had little satchels over their shoulders, and parti-colouredcricket caps on their little curly heads. Their faces were bright andshining, the knees of their stockings were elaborately darned, thelittle hands were unmistakably ink-stained, and their pockets werebulged out almost to bursting. 

Such was the apparition which confronted the Bolsover "cad" as he satslowly making up his mind to become a labourer. 

The younger brother drew back and began to cry, as soon as he perceivedthat the terrible villain on the bank had turned and was regarding them. 

"Freddy, Freddy, run!" he cried. 

"I shan't, " said Freddy with a big heave of his chest. "I'm notafraid. " The fluttering heart beneath that manly bosom belied thewords, as Freddy, dragging his brother by the hand, walked forward. 

Jeffreys did not exactly know what to do. Were he to rise and approachthe little couple the consequences might be disastrous. Were he toremain where he was or skulk away, he would be allowing them to believehim the ruffian they thought him, and that lane would become a dailyterror to their little lives. The only thing was to endeavour to makefriends. 

"What are you afraid of?" said he, in as gentle a manner as he could. "I won't hurt you. "

The sound of his voice caused the smaller boy to scream outright, andeven the elder trembled a little as he kept himself full front to theenemy. 

"You little donkeys, I'm a schoolboy myself, " said Jeffreys. Thisannouncement had a magical effect. The younger brother stopped short inhis scream, and Freddy boldly took two steps forward. 

"Are you a boy?" inquired the latter. 

"Of course I am. I was in the top form. I'm older than you, though. "

"I'm ten, " replied the proud owner of that venerable age. 

"I'm nine in February, " chimed in the still-fluttered junior. 

"I'm about as old as you two put together. How old's that, Freddy?"

"Nineteen, " said Freddy. 

By this time Jeffreys had gradually descended the bank and stood closeto the two small brothers. 

"Bravo, young 'un, you can do sums, I see!"

"Compound division and vulgar fractions, " said Freddy confidentially. 

Jeffreys gave a whistle of admiration which won the heart of his hearer. 

"Are you going to school now?" inquired the latter. 

"No; I've left school, " said Jeffreys, "last week. "

"Last week! why, it's only the middle of the term. Were you sent away?"

Jeffreys began to feel uncomfortable in the presence of this smallcross-examiner. 

"I got into trouble and had to leave. "

"I know why, " said the younger brother, plucking up courage. 

"Why?" inquired Jeffreys, with an amused smile. 

"Because you were so ugly!"

Jeffreys laughed. "Thank you, " said he. 

"Was it because you killed the master?" asked the more matter-of-factFreddy. 

Poor Jeffreys winced before this random shot, and hastened to divert theconversation. 

"Whose school do you go to?" he inquired. 

"Trimble's; we hate her, " said the two youths in a breath. 

"Why? Does she whack you?"

"No; but she worries us, and young Trimble's worse still. Do you knowthe school?"

"No. What's the name of the house?"

"Oh, Galloway House, in Ebor Road. It wasn't so bad when Fison wasthere, " continued the open-hearted Freddy; "but now he's gone. Trimble's a cad. "

"We hate her, " chimed in the original Teddy. 

"We hope the new master will be like Fison, but I don't believe Trimblecan get any one to come, " said Freddy. 

Jeffreys pricked up his ears and asked a good many questions about theschool, which the youthful pair readily and gaily replied to, and thensuggested that if Trimble was such a cad the boys had better not belate. 

"Have some parliament cake?" said Freddy, opening his satchel andproducing a large square of crisp gingerbread. 

Jeffreys had not the heart to refuse a little piece of this delicacy, and enjoyed it more than the most sumptuous meal in an hotel. Teddyalso insisted on his taking a bite out of his apple. 

"Good-bye, " said the little fellow, putting up his face in the mostnatural manner for a kiss. Jeffreys felt quite staggered by thisunexpected attention, but recovered his presence of mind enough to dowhat was expected of him. Freddy, on the other hand, looked ratheralarmed at his young brother's audacity, and contented himself withholding out his hand. 

"Good-bye, little chap, " said Jeffreys, feeling a queer lump in histhroat and not exactly knowing which way to look. 

Next moment the two little brothers were trotting down the road hand-in-hand as gay as young larks. Jeffreys thought no more about the navvies, or the delights of a labourer's life. A new hope was in him, and hestrolled slowly back into York wondering to himself if angels ever cometo men in the shape of little schoolboys. 

It was still early when he reached the city. So he spent sixpence ofhis little store on a bath in the swimming baths, and another sixpenceon some breakfast. Then, refreshed in body and mind, he called at thepost-office. There was nothing for him there. Though he hardlyexpected any letter yet, his heart sunk as he thought what news mightpossibly be on its way to him at that moment. The image of Forrester ashe lay on the football field haunted him constantly, and he would havegiven all the world even then to know that he was alive. Hope, however, came to his rescue, and helped him for a time to shake off the weight ofhis heart, and address himself boldly to the enterprise he had in hand. 

That enterprise the acute reader has easily guessed. He would offer hisservices to the worthy Mrs Trimble, _vice_ Mr Fison, resigned. Henever imagined his heart could beat as quickly as it did when after along search he read the words--"Galloway House. Select School forLittle Boys, " inscribed on a board in the front garden of a small, old-fashioned house in Ebor Road. 

The sound of children's voices in the yard at the side apprised him thathe had called at a fortunate time. Mrs Trimble during the play-hourwould in all probability be disengaged. 

Mrs Trimble was disengaged, and opened the door herself. Jeffreysbeheld a stoutish harmless-looking woman, with a face by no meansforbidding, even if it was decidedly unintellectual. 

"Well, young man, " said she. She had been eating, and, I regret to say, had not finished doing so before she began to speak. 

"Can I see Mrs Trimble, please?" asked Jeffreys, raising his hat. Thelady, finding her visitor was a gentleman, hastily wiped her mouth andanswered rather lest brusquely. 

"I am the lady, " said she. 

"Excuse me, " said Jeffreys, "I called to ask if you were in want of anassistant teacher. I heard that you were. "

"How did you hear that, I wonder? I suppose he's a friend of thatFison. Yes, young man, I am in want of an assistant. "

"I should do my best to please you, if you would let me come, " saidJeffreys. And then, anxious to avoid the painful subject of hischaracter, he added, "I have not taught in a school before, and I haveno friends here, so I can't give you any testimonials. But I am well upin classics and pretty good in mathematics, and would work hard, ma'am, if you would try me. "

"Are you a steady young man? Do you drink?"

"I never touch anything but water; and I am quite steady. "

"What wages do you expect?"

"I leave that to you. I will work for nothing for a month till you seeif I suit you. "

Mrs Trimble liked this. It looked like a genuine offer. 

"Are you good-tempered and kind to children?" she asked. 

"I am very fond of little boys, and I always try to keep my temper. "

His heart sank at the prospect of other questions of this kind. ButMrs Trimble was not of a curious disposition. She knew when she likeda young man and when she didn't, and she valued her own judgment as muchas anybody else's testimonials. 

"You mustn't expect grand living here, " she said. 

"I was never used to anything but simple living, " said he. 

"Very well, Mr --"

"Jeffreys, ma'am. "

"Mr Jeffreys, we'll try how we get on for a month; and after that I canoffer you a pound a month besides your board. "

"You are very kind, " said Jeffreys, to whom the offer seemed amagnificent one. "I am ready to begin work at once. "

"That will do. You'd better begin now. Come this way to theschoolroom. "

CHAPTER SIX. 

GALLOWAY HOUSE. 

My business-like readers have, I dare say, found fault with me forrepresenting a business conference on which so much depended as havingtaken place on the front doorstep of Galloway House, and withoutoccupying much more than five minutes in the transaction. How didJeffreys know what sort of person Mrs Trimble was? She might have beena Fury or a Harpy. Her house might have been badly drained. Mr Fisonmight have left her because he couldn't get his wages. And what didMrs Trimble know about the Bolsover cad? She never even asked for atestimonial. He might be a burglar in disguise, or a murderer, or achild-eater. And yet these two foolish people struck a bargain with oneanother five minutes after their first introduction, and before even thepotatoes which Mrs Trimble had left on her plate when she went to thedoor had had time to get cold. 

I am just as much surprised as the reader at their rashness, which I canonly account for by supposing that they were both what the reader wouldcall "hard up. " Jeffreys, as we know, was very hard up; and as for MrsTrimble, the amount of worry she had endured since Mr Fison had leftwas beyond all words. She had had to teach as well as manage, the thingshe never liked. And her son and assistant, without a second usher tokeep him steady, had been turning her hair grey. For three weeks shehad waited in vain. Several promising-looking young men had come andlooked at the place and then gone away. She had not been able to enjoyan afternoon's nap for a month. In short, she was getting worn-out. When, therefore, Jeffreys came and asked for the post, she had to put acheck on herself to prevent herself from "jumping down his throat. "Hence the rapid conference at the hall door, and the ease with whichJeffreys got his footing in Galloway House. 

"Come and have a bite of mutton, " said Mrs Trimble, leading the wayinto the parlour. "Jonah and I are just having dinner. "

Jonah, who, if truth must be told, had been neglecting his inner manduring the last five minutes in order to peep through the crack of thedoor, and overhear the conference in the hall between his mother and thestranger, was a vulgar-looking youth of about Jeffrey's age, with aslight cast in his eye, but otherwise not bad-looking. He eyed the newusher as he entered with a mingled expression of suspicion and contempt;and Jeffreys, slow of apprehension though he usually was, knew at aglance that he had not fallen on a bed of roses at Galloway House. 

"Jonah, this is Mr Jeffreys; I've taken him on in Fison's place. Myson, Mr Jeffreys. "

Jonah made a face at his mother, as much as to say, "I don't admire yourchoice, " and then, with a half-nod at Jeffreys, said, --

"Ah, how are you?"

"Jonah and I always dine at twelve, Mr Jeffreys, " said Mrs Trimble, over whom the prospect of the afternoon's nap was beginning to cast abalmy sense of ease. "You two young men will be good friends, I hope, and look well after the boys. "

"More than you do, " said the undutiful Jonah; "they've been doing justas they please the last month. "

"It's a pity, Jonah, you never found fault with that before. "

"What's the use of finding fault? No end to it when you once begin. "

"Well, " observed the easy-going matron, "you two will have to see Idon't have occasion to find fault with you. "

Jonah laughed, and asked Jeffreys to cut him a slice of bread. 

Presently Mrs Trimble quitted the festive board, and the two usherswere left together. 

"Lucky for you, " said young Trimble, "you got hold of ma and pinned herdown to taking you on on the spot. What's she going to pay you?"

The question did not altogether please the new assistant, but he wasanxious not to come across his colleague too early in theiracquaintanceship. 

"She pays me nothing the first month. After that, if I suit, I'm tohave a pound a month. "

"If you suit? I suppose you know that depends on whether I like you ornot?"

"I hope not, " blurted out Jeffreys--"that is, " added he, seeing hismistake, "I hope we shall _get_ on well together. "

"Depends, " said Trimble. "I may as well tell you at once I hate stuck-uppedness (this was a compound word worthy of a young schoolmaster). Ifyou're that sort you'd better cry off at once. If you can do your workwithout giving yourself airs, I shall let you alone. "

Jeffreys was strongly tempted after this candid avowal to take theyouthful snob's advice and cry off. But the memory of yesterday'smiserable experiences restrained him. He therefore replied, with aslittle contempt as he was able to put into the words, --

"Thanks. "

Trimble's quick ear detected the ill-disguised scorn of the reply. "Youneedn't try on that sort of talk, " said he; "I can tell you plump, itwon't do. You needn't think because ma took you on for the asking, you're going to turn up your nose at the place!"

"I don't think so, " said Jeffreys, struggling hard with himself. "Howmany boys are there here?"

"Forty-four. Are you anything of a teacher? Can you keep order?"

"I don't know; I haven't tried yet. "

"Well, just mind what you're about. Keep your hands off the boys; wedon't want manslaughter or anything of that sort here. "

Jeffreys started. Was it possible that this was a random shot, or didTrimble know about Bolsover and young Forrester? The next remarksomewhat reassured him. 

"They're looking sharp after private schools now; so mind, hands off. There's one o'clock striking. All in! Come along. You'd better takethe second class and see what you can make of them. Precious little mawill put her nose in, now you're here to do the work. "

He led the way down the passage and across a yard into an outhouse whichformed the schoolroom. Here were assembled, as the two ushers entered, some forty boys ranging in age from seven to twelve, mostly, to judgefrom their dress and manners, of the small shopkeeper and farmer class. 

The sound of Trimble's voice produced a dead silence in the room, followed immediately by a movement of wonder as the big, ungainly formof the new assistant appeared. Jeffreys' looks, as he himself knew, were not prepossessing, and the juvenile population of Galloway Housetook no pains to conceal the fact that they agreed with him. 

"Gordon, " said Trimble, addressing a small boy who had been standing upwhen they entered, "what are you doing?"

"Nothing, sir. "

"You've no business to be doing nothing! Stand upon that form for anhour!"

The boy obeyed, and Trimble looked round at Jeffreys with a glance ofpatronising complacency. 

"That's the proper way to do with them, " said he. "Plenty of ways oftaking it out of them without knocking them about. "

Jeffreys made no reply; he felt rather sorry for the weak-kneed littleyoungster perched up on that form, and wondered if Mr Trimble wouldexpect him (Jeffreys) to adopt his method of "taking it out" of his newpupils. 

Just then he caught sight of the familiar face of Master Freddy, one ofhis friends of the morning, who was standing devouring him with his eyesas if he had been a ghost. Jeffreys walked across the room and shookhands with him. 

"Well, Freddy, how are you? How's Teddy?"

"I say, " said Trimble, in by no means an amiable voice, as he returnedfrom this little excursion, "what on earth are you up to? What did yougo and do that for?"

"I know Freddy. "

"Oh, do you? Freddy Rosher, you're talking. What do you mean by it?"

"Please, sir, I didn't mean--"

"Then stay in an hour after school, and write four pages of your copy-book. "

It took all Jeffreys' resolution to stand by and listen to thisvindictive sentence without a protest. But he restrained himself, andresolved that Freddy should find before long that all his masters werenot against him. 

"That's your fault, " said Trimble, noticing the dissatisfied look of hiscolleague. "How are we to keep order if you go and make the boys breakrules? Now you'd better get to work. Take the second class over thereand give them their English history. James the Second they're at. Now, you boys, first class, come up to me with your sums. Second class, takeyour history up to Mr Jeffreys. Come along; look alive!"

Jeffreys thereupon found himself mobbed by a troop of twenty of theyoungest of the boys, and haled away to a desk at the far end of theroom, round which they congregated book in hand, and waited for him tocommence operations. 

It was an embarrassing situation for the new usher. He had never beenso fixed before. He had often had a crowd of small boys round him, tormenting him and provoking him to anger; but to be perched up here ata desk, with twenty tender youths hanging on the first word which shouldfall from his lips, was to say the least, a novel experience. Heglanced up towards the far end of the room, in the hopes of being ableto catch a hint from the practised Jonah as to how to proceed. But hefound Jonah was looking at him suspiciously over the top of his book, and that was no assistance whatever. The boys evidently enjoyed hisperplexity; and, emboldened by his recent act of friendliness to theunlucky Freddy, regarded him benevolently. 

"Will some one lend me a book?" at last said Jeffreys, half desperate. 

A friendly titter followed this request. 

"Don't you know it without the book?" asked one innocent, handing up abook. 

"I hope you do, " said Jeffreys, blushing very much as he took it. "Now, " added he, turning to the reign of James II, "can any one tell wewhat year King James II came to the throne?"

"Please, sir, that's not the way, " interposed another irreverentyoungster, with a giggle. "You've got to read it first, and then askus. "

Jeffreys blushed again. 

"Is that the way?" said he. "Very well. James II succeeded his brotherCharles in 1685. One of his first acts on coming--"

"Oh, we're long past that, " said two or three of his delighted audienceat a breath; "we've done to where Monmouth's head was cut off. "

This was very uncomfortable for the new master. He coloured up, as ifhe had been guilty of a scandalous misdemeanour, and fumbled nervouslywith the book, positively dreading to make a fresh attempt. At last, however, he summoned up courage. 

"The death of this ill-fated nobleman was followed by a still moreterrible measure of retribution against those who had--"

"Please, sir, we can't do such long words; we don't know what thatmeans. You've got to say it in easy words, not what's put in the book. "

Jeffreys felt that all the sins of his youth were rising up against himthat moment. Nothing that he had ever done seemed just then as bad asthis latest delinquency. 

"After Monmouth's death they made it very--(hot, he was going to say, but he pulled himself up in time), they made it very (whatever was theword?)--very awkward for those who had helped him. A cruel judge namedJeffreys--"

That was a finishing stroke! The reader could have sunk through thefloor as he saw the sensation which this denunciation of himself causedamong his audience. There was not a shadow of doubt in the face of anyone of them as to his identity with the ferocious judge in question. What followed he felt was being listened to as a chapter orautobiography, and nothing he could say could now clear his character ofthe awful stain that rested upon it. 

"A cruel judge condemned more than three hundred persons--"

"You forgot to say his name, please, sir, " they put in. 

"Never mind his name; that is, I told you once, you should remember, "stammered the hapless usher. 

"I remember it. Jeffreys, wasn't it, Mr Jeffreys?" said one boytriumphantly. 

"He condemned more than--"

"Who, Jeffreys?"

What was the use of keeping it up?

"Yes; this wicked judge, Jeffreys, condemned more than three hundredpeople to death, just because they had helped Monmouth. "

There was a low whistle of horror, as every eye transfixed the speaker. 

"Did he repent?" asked one. 

"It doesn't say so, " said the wretched Jeffreys, turning over to thenext page in a miserable attempt to appear as if he was not involved inthe inquiry. 

"How dreadful!" said another. 

"Besides this, 849 people were transported. "

"By Jeffreys, sir?"

"Yes, " replied the owner of the name, finally throwing off all disguiseand giving himself up to his fate, "by this wicked Jeffreys. "

"Yes, sir; and what else did he do?"

Trimble, as he looked every now and then down the room, was astonishedto notice the quiet which prevailed in the lower class, and the interestwith which every boy was listening to the new master. 

He did not like it. He couldn't manage to interest his class, and itdidn't please him at all that this casual newcomer should come and cuthim out before his face. 

After a while he walked down the room and approached the assistant'sdesk. 

He was convinced this, unwonted order could not result from anylegitimate cause. 

"You don't seem to be doing much work here, I must say, " said he. "Giveme the book, Mr Jeffreys: I want to see what they know of the lesson. Where's the place?"

Jeffreys handed the book, putting his finger on the place. 

Trimble glanced through a paragraph or two, and then pointing to a boy, one of the least sharp in the class, said, --

"Now, Walker, what happened after Monmouth's death?"

"Oh, if you please, sir, a cruel judge, called Jeffreys, condemned--"

"That will do. You, Rosher, how many people did he condemn to death?"

"More than three hundred, sir, " answered Freddy promptly. 

"What for, Bacon?"

"Because they helped Monmouth. "

Trimble felt perplexed. He never had a class that answered like this. He tried once more. 

"Pridger, what else did he do?"

"He had 849 transported, sir. "

Trimble shut the book. It was beyond him. If Pridger had said 848 or850, he could have made something of it. But it floored him completelyto find the second class knowing the exact number of convicts in onegiven year of English history. 

"Don't let me catch any of you wasting your time, " he said. "Farrar, what do you mean by looking about you, sir? Stand on the form for halfan hour. "

"Farrar has been very quiet and attentive all the afternoon, " saidJeffreys. 

"Stand on the form an hour, Farrar, " said Trimble, with a scowl. 

Jeffreys' brow darkened as he watched the little tyrant strut off to hisclass. How long would he be able to keep hands off him?

The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully. An unconscious bond ofsympathy had arisen between the new master and his pupils. Hishistorical importance invested him with a glamour which was nearlyheroic; and his kind word on Farrar's behalf had won him an amount ofconfidence which was quick in showing itself. "We like you better thanFison, though he was nice, " said Bacon, as the class was about toseparate. 

"I hope Trimble won't send you away, " said another. 

"I wish you'd condemn young Trimble to death, or transport him, MrJeffreys, " said a third confidentially. 

"Good-bye, Mr Jeffreys, " said Freddy, with all the confidence of an oldfriend. "Did you like that parliament cake?"

"Awfully, " said Jeffreys. "Good-bye. "

Every one insisted on shaking hands with him, greatly to hisembarrassment; and a few minutes later the school was scattered, andJeffreys was left to go over in his mind his first day's experience. 

On the whole he was cheerful. His heart warmed to these simple littlefellows, who thought none the worse of him for being ugly and clumsy. With Mrs Trimble, too, he anticipated not much difficulty. YoungTrimble was a rock ahead undoubtedly, but Jeffreys would stand him aslong as he could, and not anticipate the day, which he felt to beinevitable, when he would be able to stand him no longer. 

"Well, Mr Jeffreys, " said Mrs Trimble, as the dame and her twoassistants sat down to tea, "how do you manage?"

"Pretty well, thank you, ma'am, " replied Jeffreys; "they are a nice lotof little boys, and I found them very good and quiet. "

"Of course you would, if you let them do as they like, " said Jonah. "You'll have to keep them in, I can tell you, if you expect to keeporder. "

It did occur to Jeffreys that if they were good without being kept in, Jonah ought to be satisfied, but he was too wise to embark on adiscussion with his colleague, and confined his attentions to MrsTrimble. 

The meal being ended, he said--

"Will you excuse me, ma'am, if I go into the city for about an hour? Ihave to call at the post-office for letters. "

"Look here, " said Jonah, "we don't let our assistants out any time theylike. It's not usual. They ought to stay here. There's plenty of workto do here. "

"It's very important for me to get the letters, Mrs Trimble, " saidJeffreys. 

"Well, of course, this once, " said the matron, glancing uneasily at herson; "but, as Jonah says, we like our young men to stay in, especiallyat night. We parted with Mr Fison because he was not steady. "

"Thank you, ma'am, " said Jeffreys; "if the letters have come to-day Ishall not have to trouble you again. Can I do anything for you intown?"

"That chap won't do, " said Jonah to his mother when at last Jeffreysstarted on his expedition. 

"I think he will; he means well. It wouldn't do, Jonah, " said the goodlady, "to have all the trouble again of finding a young man. I thinkMr Jeffreys will do. "

"I don't, " said Jonah sulkily, taking up a newspaper. 

Jeffreys meanwhile, in a strange frame of mind, hurried down to thepost-office. The day's adventures seemed like a dream to him as hewalked along, and poor Forrester seemed the only reality of his life. 

Would there be a letter? And what news would it bring him? During thelast twelve hours a new hope and object in life had opened before him. But what was it worth, if, after all, at this very moment Forrestershould be lying lifeless at Bolsover?

"Have you any letter for John Jeffreys?" he asked; but his heart beat soloud that he scarcely heard his own voice. 

The man, humming cheerily to himself, took a batch of letters out of apigeon-hole and began to turn them over. Jeffreys watched himfeverishly, and marvelled at his indifference. 

"What name did you say--Jones?"

"No, Jeffreys--John Jeffreys. "

Again he turned over the bundle, almost carelessly. At length heextracted a letter, which he tossed onto the counter. 

"There you are, my beauty, " said he. 

Jeffreys, heeding nothing except that it was addressed in Mr Frampton'shand, seized the missive and hastened from the office. 

At the first shop window he stood and tore it open. 

"My dear Jeffreys, --I was glad to hear from you, although your lettergave me great pain. It would have been wiser in you to return here, whatever your circumstances might be; wiser still would it have been hadyou never run away. But I do not write now to reproach you. You havesuffered enough, I know. I write to tell you of Forrester. "

Jeffreys gave a gasp for breath before he dare read on. 

"The poor fellow has made a temporary rally, but the doctors by no meansconsider him out of danger. Should he recover, which I fear is hardlyprobable, I grieve to say the injuries he has received would leave him acripple for life. There is an injury to the spine and partialparalysis, which, at the best, would necessitate his lying constantly onhis back, and thus being dependent entirely on others. If he can bearit, he is to be removed to his home in a day or two. He has asked aboutyou, and on my telling him that I was writing to you, said, `Tell him Iknow it was only an accident. ' I am sure that this letter will grieveyou; I wish I could say anything which will help you. May God in Hismercy bring good to us all out of this sorrow! As for yourself, I hopethat your guardian's resentment will be short-lived, and that you willlet me hear of your welfare. Count on me as a friend, in spite of all. 

"Yours always, --

"T. Frampton. "

"In spite of all!" groaned poor Jeffreys, as he crushed the letter intohis pocket. "Will no one have pity on me?"

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

WHAT A DAY FOR JONAH!

The six months which followed Jeffreys' introduction into the classicalatmosphere of Galloway House passed uneventfully for him, and notaltogether unpleasantly. He had, it is true, the vision of youngForrester always in his mind, to drag him down, whenever he dwelt uponit, into the bitterest dejection; and he had the active spite andinsolence of Jonah Trimble daily to try his temper and tax his patience. 

Otherwise he was comfortable. Mrs Trimble, finding him steady andquiet, treated him kindly when she had her own way, and indifferentlywhen her son was with her. The boys of the second class maintained themysterious respect they had conceived for him on the day of his arrival, and gave him wonderfully little trouble or difficulty. 

He had his evenings for the most part to himself, and even succeeded, after something like a battle-royal with the Trimbles, in carrying hispoint of having one "evening out" in the week. It nearly cost him hissituation, and it nearly cost Jonah a bone-shaking before the questionwas settled. But Jeffreys could be stubborn when he chose, and stoodout grimly on this point. Had it not been for this weekly respite, Galloway House would have become intolerable before a month was over. 

He heard occasionally from Mr Frampton; but the one question whichwould have interested him most was generally passed over. Mr Framptonprobably considered that any reference to Forrester would be painful tohis correspondent, and therefore avoided it. At last, however, in replyto Jeffreys' entreaty to know where the boy was and how he wasprogressing, the head-master wrote:--

"I really cannot tell you what you want to know about Forrester, as Ihave heard nothing of him. His father, as you know, is an officer inIndia, and his only relative in England was his grandmother, to whosehouse at Grangerham he was removed on leaving here. The last I heardwas a month after he had left here, when he was reported still to belingering. His grandmother, so I heard, was very ill. He himself, as alast hope, was to be removed to a hospital (I could not hear which) toreceive special treatment. Since then--which is five months ago--I haveheard nothing, and my last letter to Grangerham was returned by theDead-Letter Office. I wish I could tell you more. You may depend on mydoing so should I hear of him again, " etc. 

It is hardly to be wondered at after this that poor Jeffreys felt theweight upon him heavier than ever. As long as he had known whereForrester was, and had the hope of hearing from time to time how hefared, he had been able to buoy himself up with the hope of some daymaking up to his victim for the injury he had inflicted; but when, suddenly, Forrester dropped hopelessly out of his life, the burden ofhis conscience grew intolerable. 

He struggled hard, by devoting himself to his boys and by hard privatestudy in his leisure hours, to drive the haunting memory away, but theeffort succeeded only for a time. At night, as he lay in bed, unable toescape from himself, the vision of that pale face and that cry of terrorhardly once left him till merciful sleep came to his rescue. And byday, when his small pupils vexed him, or the spiteful Jonah tempted himto revenge, the thought of Forrester cowed him into submission, and lefthim no choice but to endure what seemed to be his penance. 

"Ma, " said Mrs Trimble's hopeful, one afternoon after school hadclosed, "you've been nicely taken in over that Jeffreys, I can tellyou. "

"What!" said the lady. "He doesn't drink, does he?"

"Don't know. But there's something queer about him, and I mean to findit out. I'm not going to let it go on, I can tell you. "

"Why, what's he been doing, Jonah?"

"Doing? You must go about with your eyes shut if you don't see he'sbeen sulking ever since he came here. I tell you there's somethingwrong. "

"Oh, don't say that, Jonah. "

"You never took a character with him, did you?"

"No; he hadn't been in a place before. "

"Depend on it, ma, he's skulking. He's done something, and finds this aconvenient place to hide away in. "

"But, Jonah, he's never shown any signs of not being all right. He'svery kind to the boys, and keeps them in wonderful order, better thanyou do almost. "

Jonah did not like this, because he knew it was true. His boys wereneither fond of him nor obedient to his control, and the fact thatJeffreys' boys were both was additional proof that there was somethingwrong. 

"Do you suppose he can't manage to take you in, ma? Of course, any onecould. "

"But he makes himself very pleasant, and studies, and keeps very quietout of school. "

"Of course. Isn't that what I tell you? He's hiding. What do yousuppose he skulks away into town for once a week--eh?"

"Not to drink, I do hope?" said the lady. 

"Whatever it is, I mean to get to the bottom of it, for the sake of theschool, " said Jonah. "Fancy the mess we'd get into if it got known wehad a shady character here as a teacher!"

"But, Jonah, dear, it's only suspicion. He may be all right. "

"Oh, anything _may_ be, " retorted the philosophic Jonah. "The thingis--is it?"

As Mrs Trimble was unable to answer this question, she retired from thediscussion, and hoped devoutly nothing was going to happen which wouldnecessitate her doing more work about the school than she at presentdid. 

The unconscious Jeffreys meanwhile was upstairs, washing himself beforestarting for his weekly "evening out. " He had more than usual beforehim on this particular evening, as, besides calling at the post-office--an errand he never missed--he had discovered another old bookshop acrossthe river which kept open till seven o'clock. And after that he hadpromised Freddy and Teddy, with whom from the first he had kept up awarm friendship, to call up at their house and help them mend theirtricycle. With this full programme before him, he lost no time instarting on his travels; little dreaming that the quick pace at which hestrode along gave unwonted exercise to Mr Jonah Trimble, who, animatedby an amiable curiosity, dogged his footsteps at a respectful distance. 

It was about five o'clock when Jeffreys reached the post-office. Theclerk knew him by this time, and this evening handed him a letterwithout being asked. It was a short friendly line from Mr Framptonwith no news--at any rate about Forrester; and Trimble, as he watchedhim emerge from the office, letter in hand, and haggard in face, chalkeddown in in his own mind a first clue as to the mystery that wasexercising him. 

From the post-office Jeffreys strolled leisurely down the streets towardthe bridge, stopping to look into some of the shops by the way, andoccasionally making Trimble's heart jump by looking behind him. 

In due time he pulled up at the bookseller's shop. Trimble saw theproprietor welcome his visitor with a nod which bespoke an acquaintanceof some standing. He saw Jeffreys turning over the contents of some ofthe trays, taking up a book now and then and examining it, and sometimespropping himself up against the doorpost and reading page after page. It was not very entertaining work for the spy; but curiosity is patient, and Jonah as he watched the unconscious reader at a safe distancefortified himself by the conviction that he was watching the working-outof some deep-laid plot. 

Presently he saw Jeffreys disappear into the shop, and what was hisamazement, when presently he "casually" passed the door, to see himseated with the bookseller at a table earnestly poring over anddiscussing a small faded sheet of paper which lay between them! Trimblewould have given worlds to know what the mysterious document was, andwhat villainy was brewing. Had he known it, he might not have stood outthere in the evening air quite as patiently as he did. For themysterious document happened to be nothing but an old tattered and tornCommonwealth tract which Jeffreys had discovered folded up between theleaves of an ancient volume of poetry, and which he and his friend thebookseller were spending a very agreeable half-hour in piecing togetherand deciphering. 

About seven o'clock Jeffreys rose to go, pocketing the precious relic, which his friend had given him; and Trimble, having carefully noted downthe name of the shop and the personal appearance of the suspiciousbookseller, followed gingerly back across the bridge. The streets weregetting less crowded, and Jonah had increasing difficulty in keepinghimself concealed as he crawled along on the opposite side of the waysome thirty or forty yards in the rear of his man. 

Just as Jeffreys was crossing the space opposite the grand front of theminster a dog sprang forward to meet him with every token of joy. Itwas Julius, and Jeffreys knew that the master could not be very faraway. He turned round for a moment, as though he meditated flight, andgave Jonah a spasm by the unexpected movement. But before he coulddecide Mr Halgrove strolled pleasantly round the corner, and nodded tohim as if he and his ward had not parted five minutes before. 

"Ah, John, fine evening for a stroll. On your way home?"

Mr Halgrove till that moment had not had the faintest idea that hisward was still in York. 

"No, " said Jeffreys, patting the dog's head and looking very much thereverse of comfortable. 

"They say the front of the minster is beginning to crumble at places, "said Mr Halgrove, looking up at the noble pile before them; "I hopeit's not true. Are you much here?"

"No. I live in another part of the town. "

"Very odd my meeting you, " said Mr Halgrove. "I was thinking of youonly to-day. I had a letter from Mr Frampton. "

"Indeed, sir--about Forrester?"

"About--oh, your little victim? Oddly enough, it was not. It was toremind me that your last half-term's fees were not paid. Don't youthink it would be judicious to clear up this little score? Looks bad, you know--to run away with score against you. "

Jeffrey's face turned pale. He had at least supposed that up to thetime of his expulsion from his guardian's house Mr Halgrove would haveconsidered himself responsible for his maintenance. 

"I never dreamt, " he faltered. "How much is it?"

"Quite a little sum, isn't it? Come, you were last at school. Too badto pose me with compound division at my time of life. Half a term at£40 a year?"

"Seven pounds!" gasped Jeffreys. 

"Not quite, £6 13 shillings, 4 pence. Fancy my being better at mentalarithmetic than you!"

"I haven't got any money. I only get a pound a month and my board. "

"My dear boy, I congratulate you. Twelve pounds a year! Now, wasn't ita pity you didn't take that £5 note I offered you? Suppose you take itnow!"

Mr Halgrove put his hand to his pocket and took out his purse. 

"No!" exclaimed Jeffreys, in a tone that made Trimble, who was busyengaged in inspecting the architecture of the minster from behind a deepbuttress close to the speaker, jump--"I'd sooner die!"

"Don't do that, my dear fellow, don't do that, " said Mr Halgrove, witha smile which belied the anger he felt at the refusal; "rather than thatI'll keep the money. I have no wish to commit a murder. It's not in myline. That's one point in which you and I differ, isn't it?"

Jeffreys made as though he would spring upon him. What was it checkedhim? Was it the solemn minster--was it a dread of his guardian'ssuperior strength--was it fear of punishment? Or was it a momentaryglimpse of a pale face in a moonlit room far away, which took the spiritout of him and made his arm drop at his side?

"Well, I won't keep you, " said Mr Halgrove, who had also for a momentlooked uneasy. "I dare say you are in a hurry like myself. The factis, I am going a trip to America next week and have a good deal toattend to. That makes me doubly glad to have met you. Good-bye, mydear boy, good-bye. Come, Julius. "

Julius as he slunk off at his master's heels, and heard the smotheredoath which escaped Mr Halgrove's lips as soon as he found himselfalone, looked round wistfully and pitifully, and wished he were allowedto go where he pleased. 

Jeffreys walked on like a man in a dream. For six months he had beenworking out what had been to him a penance, hoping to live down his badname, even if he could never win a good. 

But now in a moment it seemed as if the labour of those patient monthshad been dashed to the ground, and his guardian's bitter words brandedthemselves on his heart as he paced on out of the shadow of the nobleminster into the dusk of the city. 

Trimble, nearly bursting with excitement--for he had overheard all thelatter part of the conversation--crept after him. What a time he washaving!

Jeffreys bent his steps almost aimlessly out of the city into thecountry beyond. It was only half-past seven, and Teddy and Freddy wereexpecting him. He had not the heart to fail them, though he wouldgladly have remained solitary that evening. The Roshers lived in asmall cottage some distance down the lane in which six months agoJeffreys had first encountered the sunshine of their presence. How longago it seemed now! Ah! that was the very bank on which he sat; andthere beyond was the railway embankment at which the navvies wereworking, now finished and with the grass growing up its sides. 

Trimble's little heart jumped to his mouth as he saw the man he wasfollowing stop abruptly and begin to climb the bank. He was too closebehind to be able to turn back. All he could do was to crouch down inthe ditch and "lie low. " He heard Jeffreys as he gained the top of thebank sigh wearily; then he seemed to be moving as if in search of aparticular spot; and then the lurker's hair stood on end as he heard thewords, hoarsely spoken, --

"It was this very place. "

What a day Jonah was having! After a quarter of an hour's pause, duringwhich the patient Jonah got nearly soaked to the skin in his wateryhiding-place, Jeffreys roused himself and descended into the lane. Anyone less abstracted could not have failed to detect the scared face ofthe spy shining out like a white rag from the hedge. But Jeffreysheeded nothing and strode on to Ash Cottage. 

Long before he got there, Freddy and Teddy, who had been on the look-outfor him for an hour, scampered down to meet him. 

"Hurrah, Jeff!" shouted Teddy (I grieve to say that these irreverentbrethren had long ago fallen into the scandalous habit of calling theirteacher by a familiar contraction of his proper name, nor had the masterrebuked them). "Hurrah, Jeff! we were afraid you weren't coming. "

"The tricycle won't go, " said Freddy; "we've pulled it all to bits, andtried to make it right with a hammer, but it's very bad. "

"It's glorious you've come to do it. Isn't Jeff a brick, Teddy?"

"Rather--and, oh, did you bring any oil? We used all ours up. "

"We've got a screw-driver, though!" said Freddy. 

"And lots of string!" shouted Teddy. 

"You _are_ a brick to come and do it, " shouted both. 

Where in the world is there a tonic equal to the laugh of a light-hearted grateful little boy? How could Jeffreys help forgetting histrouble for a time and devoting himself heart and soul to the businessof that tricycle? Trimble, as he dodged along after them perplexed andpuffing, could hardly believe his eyes as he saw his morose colleaguesuddenly throw off the burden that was on him and become gay. 

"Come along, little chaps--let's see what we can do, " said Jeffreys, asthe three strode out to the cottage. "Where is he?"

"In the shed. We've got a candle. "

Trimble saw them disappear into the garden, and, guided by their cheeryvoices, soon discovered the back of the shed in which the momentoussurgical operation was to take place. It backed on the road, and mighthave been built for Trimble's purpose. For the woodwork abounded inmost convenient cracks, through which a spy might peep and listenluxuriously. What a day Jonah was having!

The Roshers conducted their friend into the place like anxious relativeswho conduct a physician into a sick-chamber. The poor patient lay onthe floor in a very bad way. Two wheels were off, the axle was bent, the wire spokes were twisted, the saddle was off, and the brake was allover the place. 

Jeffreys shook his head and looked grave. 

"It's a bad job, " said he. 

"You see, we were giving mother a ride on it, and she's too heavy--especially going downhill. She thought we were holding it, but it gotaway. We yelled to her to put on the brake, but she didn't, and it wentbang into the wall. "

"And your mother?" inquired Jeffreys, somewhat anxiously. 

"Oh, her face is much better now. The doctor says there'll be hardlyany marks left after all. "

It was a long business putting the unlucky tricycle in order. Jeffreyswas not a mechanic. All he could do was to put the parts together in amakeshift way, and by straightening some of the bent parts and greasingsome of the stiff parts restore the iron horse into a gloomy semblanceof his old self. 

The boys were as grateful and delighted as if he had constructed a newmachine out of space; and when at last a trial trip demonstrated that atany rate the wheels would go round and the saddle would carry them, their hearts overflowed. 

"You are a real brick, Jeff, " said Teddy; "I wish I could give you ahundred pounds!"

"I don't want a hundred pounds, " said Jeffreys, with a smile; "if youand Freddy and I are good friends, that's worth a lot more to me. "

"Why?" demanded Freddy; "are we the only friends you've got?"

Jeffreys looked out of the window and said, --

"Not quite--I've got one more. "

"Who--God?" asked the boy naturally. 

Poor Jeffreys! He sometimes forgot that Friend, and it startled andhumbled him to hear the little fellow's simple question. 

"Of course, he's got Him, " interposed Teddy, without giving him time toreply. "But who else, Jeff?"

"I saw him not long ago, " said Jeffreys. "His name's Julius. "

"You don't like him more than us, do you?" asked Teddy rather anxiously. 

"Not a quarter as much, old chap, " said Jeffreys. 

There was a pause, during which Trimble chuckled to think how little thespeaker guessed into whose ears he was betraying the name of hisvillainous accomplice! Presently, however, he started to hear the soundof his own name. 

"Jeff, " said Teddy, "isn't Mr Trimble a beast?"

"Let's talk about something pleasant, " suggested Jeffreys, by way ofbegging the question. 

"Let's talk about hanging him; that would be pleasant, " said Teddy. 

"Would you be sorry if he was dead?" demanded Teddy, in his matter-of-fact way. "I say, Jeff, wouldn't it be jolly if we could kill everybodywe hated?"

"Wouldn't it be jolly if every little boy who talked like a littledonkey were to have his ears boxed?" said Jeffreys. 

"I wish he'd been on the tricycle instead of mother, " continued Teddy, with a sigh of content at the bare idea. 

"Teddy, you are not as nice a little boy as I thought when you talk likethat, " said Jeffreys. "Come and let's have one more turn on themachine, and then I must hurry back, or Mrs Trimble will think I'mlost. "

Jeffreys got back to Galloway House about ten o'clock, and found Jonahsitting up for him. 

"So you _have_ come back, " said that individual pompously. "I hopeyou've enjoyed your evening out. "

"Yes, " said Jeffreys, "pretty well. "

"Oh!" said Jonah to himself, as he went up to bed, bursting withexcitement. "If he only knew what I know! Let me see--"

And then he went over in his mind the events of that wonderful evening, the visit to the post-office and the horrified look as he came outletter in hand; the mysterious conference with the bookseller, doubtlessover this very letter. And how artfully he had been pretending to lookat the books outside till he saw no one was looking! Then, the secretmeeting with his accomplice in the minster yard--Mr Julius, yes, thatwas the name he had himself told the boys--and the altercation over themoney, doubtless the booty of their crime, and Mr Julius's denunciationof Jeffreys as a murderer! Whew! Then that lonely country walk, andthat search on the bank, and that exclamation, "It was this very place!"Whew! Jonah had tied a bit of his bootlace on the hedge just under thespot, and could find it again within a foot. Then the rencontre withthe two boys and the strange, enigmatical talk in the shed, pointing tothe plot of a new crime of which he--Trimble--was to be the victim. Ha, ha!--and the business over that tricycle too, in the candle-light. Jonah could see through that. He could put a spoke in a wheel as wellas Jeffreys. 

Two things were plain. He must get hold of the letter; and he mustvisit the scene of the crime _with a spade_! Then--

Jonah sat up half the night thinking of it, till at last the deepbreathing of his colleague in the next room reminded him that now at anyrate was the time to get the letter. He had seen Jeffreys crush it intohis side pocket after leaving the bookseller's and he had heard himbefore getting into bed just now hang his coat on the peg behind thedoor. And it was hot, and the door was open. 

What a day Jonah was having!

Fortune favours the brave. It was a work of two minutes only. Thepocket was there at his hand before he had so much as put a foot in theroom. And there was the letter--two letters--and not a board creaked ora footstep sounded before he was safe back in his own room with thedocumentary evidence before him. 

There was only one letter after all. The other paper was a rubbishingrigmarole about General Monk and the Parliament 1660. This Jonah tossedcontemptuously into the grate. But the other letter, how his fleshcrept as he read it! It had no date, and was signed only in initials. 

"Dear J. There is no news. I can understand your trouble and remorse, and this uncertainty makes it all the more terrible to you. I know itis vain to say to you, `Forget, ' but do not write about poor Forrester'sblood being on your head! Your duty is to live and redeem the past. Let the dead bury their dead, dear fellow, and turn your eyes forward, like a brave man. Yours ever, J. F. "

Do you wonder if Jonah's blood curdled in his veins--"remorse, ""uncertainty, " "poor Forrester, " "his blood on your head, " eh? "buryyour dead"!

Whew! _What_ a day Jonah had had, to be sure!

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

I KNOW A BANK. 

Jonah Trimble may not have been a genius of the first water, but he wasat least wise enough to know that he could not both have his cake andeat it. His discovery of Jeffreys' villainy was a most appetising cake, and it wanted some little self-denial to keep his own counsel about it, and not spoil sport by springing his mine until all the trains werelaid. 

Another consideration, moreover, which prevented his taking immediateaction was that Jeffreys was extremely useful at Galloway House, andcould not be spared just yet--even to the gallows. In a few months'time, when the good name of the school, which had rapidly risen since hecame upon the scene, was well established, things might be brought to aclimax. Meanwhile Jonah Trimble would keep his eye on his man, read his_Eugene Aram_, and follow up his clues. 

Jeffreys awoke on the following morning with a feeling of oppression onhis mind which for a little time he could not define. It was not hisguardian's words, bitter as they had been; it was not the insolence ofhis fellow-usher, intolerable as that was becoming. When at last hiswandering thoughts came in and gave the trouble shape, he found it tooka much more practical form. He was in debt seven pounds to MrFrampton. It never occurred to him to wonder whether Mr Halgrove hadbeen telling him the truth or not, nor to his unbusinesslike mind did itoccur that his guardian, as the trustee responsible for what money heonce had, was liable for the debt, however much he might like torepudiate it. 

No; all he knew was that Mr Frampton was owed seven pounds, and that hehimself had nothing, or next to nothing, to pay. By hard saving duringthe six months he had managed to save a sovereign, but of this only lastweek he had spent the greater part in boots and clothing. Now hisworldly wealth consisted of four shillings! He was down early thatmorning, and was relieved to find that Mrs Trimble was in the parlouralone, without her son. The good lady was in an amiable mood. Theschool was getting on, and something told her that it was not greatlydue either to her own exertions or the influence of Jonah. Therefore, being a mathematical old lady, she subtracted herself and Jonah from thepresent school staff, and came to the conclusion that Jeffreys must havehad a hand in the improvement. 

"Young man, " said she, in reply to her assistant's greeting, "you'vebeen with me six months. Are you comfortable?"

"Pretty well, " said Jeffreys. "I'm very fond of my boys, and I alwaysget on comfortably with you. "

The mathematical dame once more went to work, and answered, "You andJonah don't hit it, I suppose. You don't know Jonah, young man. He maynot be easily satisfied, but he's a gentleman. "

"I'm sure, " said Jeffreys, to whom this tribute seemed the last heshould expect to hear bestowed on his amiable fellow-usher, "I try toget on with him, and shall go on trying. "

"That's right, " said Mrs Trimble, once more shuddering at the prospectof being left short-handed. "What I was going to say to you was, thatnow you've been here six months, and are not a forward young man, anddon't drink, I shall raise your wages, and give you thirty shillings amonth instead of twenty. How will that suit you?"

"You are very kind, " said the grateful Jeffreys, with a tremble in hisvoice which quite moved the old lady's heart; "it will be veryacceptable. "

"Very good. You need not mention it to Jonah, " added she hurriedly, asthat young gentleman's footsteps were heard that moment on the stairs. 

The only difference which the unconscious Jeffreys was aware of in theconduct of Jonah Trimble towards himself was that the young gentlemanwas a trifle more hectoring and a trifle more facetious than before. 

But even to the little mind of Jonah Trimble it had been revealed thatat present it would be extremely awkward for Galloway House if Jeffreyswent "on strike. " He was a good teacher and manager; and his boys weredevoted to him. Of course, when a boy goes home from school full of thepraises of his teacher, his parents are pleased too, and think well ofthe school, and tell their friends what a nice place it is for boys, andso on. It is a good advertisement, in fact. Besides, with Mrs Trimbleso lazy, and Jonah himself so unattractive, it would involve a greatdeal of trouble all round if Jeffreys deserted it. They knew byexperience that young fellows of good education did not as a rule jumpat the situation of second usher in Galloway House. And they knew, also, something of the horrors of a prolonged vacancy in their staff. 

Jonah was rather relieved when Jeffreys, immediately after school, shuthimself up in his own room, and remained there studying for the rest ofthe evening. The proceeding favoured a little idea of his own, whichwas to revisit the spot where he had tied his bootlace the eveningbefore, and see if an examination of that fatal spot would throw anyfresh light on his investigation. Accordingly after tea he salliedforth with a trowel in his coat pocket. It was rather a dismalexpedition, for it rained, and there was a cool breeze. The lane wasmuddy even in the roadway, and on the banks it was a quagmire. StillJonah was too full of his mystery seriously to mind the weather. 

He trudged up and down the lane, sharply scrutinising the hedge for hisbootlace. For a long time his perseverance was unrewarded. At length, however, his eye detected the welcome flutter of a bright tag among theleaves, and he recognised the scene of last night's damp sojourn. 

He clambered up onto the bank, regardless of his garments, and commencedan anxious scrutiny. The bank itself showed no signs of a "mystery. "Even the traces of Jeffreys' visit to it the night before wereobliterated by the soaking rain. The field on the other side wasequally unsuggestive. Jonah trampled around in circles on the youngcorn, but never a pistol, or a rusty knife, or a bottle of poison, didhe discover. 

Yet he had heard the villain say distinctly, --

"This was the very place!"

He scrambled back rather crestfallen on to the bank. It was gettingdark, and the rain came down ceaselessly, yet so strong was hiscertainty that here he should discover the evidence he was looking for, that for another half-hour he plied his trowel diligently. Sometimeswhen it struck on a stone or the roots of a bramble, he trembled withanticipation; and once, when, groping under a hedge, his hand suddenlyencountered a dead rat, his hair literally stood on end. 

He began to get nervous and uncomfortable. The night became suddenlydark, and the wind whistled all sorts of weird tunes among the trees. Jonah did not exactly believe in ghosts; still, if there were suchthings, this was just the night and just the place for the ghost he waslooking for to take its walk abroad. He did not like it, and began towish he was safe at home. The bushes round him began to rustle noisily, and a gate in the field swung to and fro with an almost human groan. Hefancied he could descry wandering lights and white gleams in thedarkness, and the vague consciousness of something coming nearer andnearer. 

At last, with a great effort, he roused himself from his moist seat, andleaped down from the bank into the lane. 

The instant his feet touched the road he was conscious of a low growl, and next moment found himself pinned, with his back to the bank, by afurious dog. 

His yell of terror had mingled with the wind for a couple of minutesbefore he became aware of the red glow of a cigar in front of him, andbehind that the dim countenance of the man whose talk with Jeffreys hehad overheard the previous evening. 

"Oh, Mr Julius!" he howled; "help me. Call him off; I shall be torn topieces. "

"And pray how come you to know the name of my dog?" said Mr Halgrove;"eh, my little highwayman?"

"Please, sir, I'm not a highwayman. I was only looking for something onthe bank. Oh, Mr Julius!"

"My dog is not used to be called Mr, " replied Mr Halgrove. 

"Oh, I--I thought that was your name, " whimpered Jonah, not daring tostir an inch for fear of incurring the resentment of the dog. 

"And pray how came you to think my name was Julius?" said Mr Halgrove, becoming interested. 

"Oh! please sir, wasn't it you that was talking to Jeffreys last nightin the minster yard?"

It was too dark for Jonah to see Mr Halgrove's eyebrows go up at thisunexpected question. 

"Julius, come in, sir. So you know the gentleman I was speaking toyesterday, " said he, coolly. "What did you say his name was?"

"Jeffreys, sir. He's an--"

Jonah pulled up. This man, whatever his name was, was Jeffreys'accomplice. Jonah felt he must not commit himself. 

"I beg your pardon, " said Mr Halgrove, noticing the abrupt pause. 

"I am saying--it's--it's rather a wet night, sir, " said Jonah, making amove to walk on. 

Mr Halgrove snapped his fingers to Julius, and next instant thewretched Jonah was pinned again to the bank. 

"What did you say he was?" asked Mr Halgrove, lighting a fusee. 

"Oh, please, sir, please call him off. My assistant, sir. "

"Oh! your assistant--in what? Highway robbery?"

"No, sir. In teaching a school. Please, sir, call him off. " MrHalgrove paid no heed to the entreaty, but proceeded to extract numerousparticulars as to his ward's conduct and mode of life at Galloway House. 

"So he's taken to minding little boys, has he? and you are his employer?You are aware that you have a treasure of course?"

Even Trimble was not so dense as to miss the sneer with which theinquiry was made. It emboldened him considerably. 

"I dislike him; so does ma. We consider him a dangerous character. "

Mr Halgrove laughed. 

"What makes you think that?"

"There's a--oh, sir, please call off the dog--mystery about him. He's--"

"Is that the reason you spied on him yesterday?"

"No, sir--that is--" for at that moment Julius growled--"yes, sir. Ithought if there was anything wrong it was my duty to the school to knowit, sir. "

"Exemplary pedagogue! And now you know it? Eh?"

"Well, sir, I have my suspicions. "

"No! And what might your suspicions be?"

"Oh, sir, " replied the wretched Jonah, feeling like a blue-bottle on apin, "I believe he's a murderer in hiding. I really do. "

"Clever little ferret! You've found that out, have you?"

"I feel no doubt about it, " said Jonah, plucking up a little confidence. 

"Don't feel any. When and where did the interesting event take place?"

"Oh, you could tell me that better than I can tell you, " stammeredTrimble. 

"Indeed!" said Mr Halgrove, his eyebrows going up ominously in thedark. 

"Of course I shouldn't--that is--I should never dream of getting _you_into trouble, sir. "

Mr Halgrove took his cigar out of his mouth and stared at the speaker. 

"I'd wait till you were safe away in America, sir; and even then Iwouldn't let your name be known, you know, as an accomplice. "

Mr Halgrove put his cigar back into his mouth, and changed his canefrom his left hand to his right. 

"Fetch him here, Julius, " said he, stepping back into the middle of theroad. 

It was in vain the wretched Jonah howled and called for mercy. 

"So you won't let my name be known as an accomplice! How very kind!"

And he gave practical proof of his gratitude by caning Jonah till bothwere tired. 

"Now good-night, " said Mr Halgrove when he had done, "and thank you fora pleasant evening. I dare say Mr Jeffreys will make up for any littledeficiencies on my part if you ask him. Ask him, with my compliments, to show you the little game he played with one of his old school-fellows. Good-night, Mr Trimble. Wish him good-night, Julius. "

Julius once more pinned his affrighted victim to the bank, and thenfollowing at his master's heels, left the bruised and bewildered Jonahto limp home as best he could. 

The day he had had yesterday had been nothing in comparison with to-day!In the school, meanwhile, there was jubilation and thanksgiving overthe fact that Jonah had a bad headache. Jeffreys, with the first andsecond classes merged for the occasion into one, amazed Mrs Trimble bythe order and industry which he commanded. 

"The young man's worth his money, " said the good lady, with a sigh ofrelief, for she had counted on losing her nap for that day at least, andwas grateful beyond measure to find her fears disappointed. 

As for the first class, they got completely spoiled by their day'schange of teacher, and vowed they would all become dunces in order to beput back in the second class. 

"I say, Jeff, " said Teddy confidentially, as the school was beingdismissed, "_is_ there any chance of his dying? It's been so rippingto-day without him. "

"Hold your tongue, sir, " said Jeffreys, in a tone which astonished hisbloodthirsty young confidant; "you're old enough to know better thantalk like that. "

Teddy looked very miserable at this rebuke. 

"Don't be in a wax with me, Jeff, " he said appealingly. "Whatever wouldI do if you got to hate me?"

Jeffreys was not proof against this, and walked home with his two youngfriends, beguiling the way with cheery talk, which effectually dispelledthe cloud which his passing anger had roused. 

On his way back he felt impelled to climb for a moment on the bank athis favourite spot. It amazed him to see the ground all torn up, and tofind a trowel lying half bedded in the turf at the top. Still more didit surprise and perplex him to find a penknife, which he recognised atonce as belonging to Trimble, and which he distinctly recollected havingseen in that hero's hand during school the afternoon of the precedingday. What did it all mean?

CHAPTER NINE. 

A THUNDERSTORM. 

It did not add to Jonah's happiness to see the looks of evident disgustwith which the first class greeted his reappearance in the schoolroom. Their pleasant experience yesterday had demoralised them, and theysettled down listlessly at Jonah's bidding like voyagers who, after aday in still waters, put out once more to the rough sea. Teddyespecially felt the hardships of the mighty deep. Jonah's eyetransfixed him all day. If he spoke, if he fidgeted, if he lookedabout, the hand of the tyrant swooped down upon him. 

He spent the greater part of the day standing on the form. The contentsof his pockets (including some priceless marbles) were impounded; he hadtwo columns of dates to commit to memory before he could go home; and, hardest of all, because of a little blot, he was reduced to theineffable humiliation of writing all his exercises on a slate!

It took all the big heart of the little fellow to bear up against thismountain of calamity, and had it not been for an occasional glimpse ofJeffreys' face, turned sympathetically in his direction, his couragemight have failed him. 

School closed, and still his dates were unlearnt. His legs ached withstanding hour after hour on the narrow form, and his head, lifted threefeet higher than usual into the heated atmosphere of the room, swamominously. 

Freddy, after waiting about dismally for half an hour, had gone homealone. The voices of boys remaining to play or talk in the yard outsidehad one after another ceased. Jeffreys had long since taken himself andhis books elsewhere, and only Jonah was left to keep watch over hisprisoner. 

The boy made a tremendous effort to master the dates, but they wentthrough him like water through a sieve. He could not even keep his eyeson the book, and when he turned them towards the master's desk, Jonahseemed to be half hidden in mist. He edged cautiously to the end of theform nearest the wall, where at least he might get a little support. Itwas a perilous voyage, for he was two feet away, and scarcely dare moveat a greater rate than an inch a minute. He got there at last, nearlydone up, and with a sigh of relief leaned his head against the coldplaster. 

"Rosher, stand at the other end of the form immediately, and learntwenty more dates for being idle. "

Alas poor Teddy! He had held out long, and braved much. But his heartquailed now. He seemed glued to the wall, and the form all of a suddenseemed to contract into a tight-rope over a chasm. 

"I'm so tired, sir, I--"

"Silence, sir! and do what you're told, " thundered Jonah. 

Teddy staggered forward half a step, but shrank back before he hadfinished it to the friendly wall. 

Trimble rose from his seat. 

"Do you hear me?" he shouted furiously. "Stand where I tell you. "

"Please, sir, I can't. I--"

Here Trimble advanced towards him, and Teddy, fairly unnerved and almostfainting, slipped down from the bench and burst into tears. 

"That's it, is it?" said Jonah; "we'll see whether you can or--"

At that instant the door opened, and Jeffreys entered the room. 

It did not require the boy's sobbing appeal, "Oh, Jeff, Jeff!" to enablehim to take in the situation at a glance. Nor did it need a secondglance at the face of the intruder to induce Jonah to turn pale. 

Jeffreys advanced without a word to the form, brushing Jonah out of hisway with a swing that sent him staggering six paces down the floor, andputting his arm round Teddy, led him without a word from the room. 

"Come along, little chap, " said he, when they got outside; "come home. "

The sound of his voice revived Teddy like a cordial. 

"Do you hate me for blubbering?" he asked anxiously; "wasn't it like ababy?"

"How long had you been up there?" asked Jeffreys. 

"It was half-past one when he stood me up. I had only just been lookinground to see where Freddy was; and oh, Jeff, I've got to write on aslate just because of a little blot. What's the time now?"

"Half-past five, " said Jeffreys, putting on his hat, and swingingTeddy's satchel over his own arm. 

"Are you coming with me Jeff?" asked the boy eagerly. 

"Of course you couldn't get home alone. "

Great was the content of the little fellow as he left Galloway Housewith his hand on the strong arm of his tutor. Greater still were hissurprise and content when, as soon as the streets were past, Jeffreystook him up on his back and carried him the rest of the way to AshCottage. 

"Thanks, awfully, old Jeff, " said the boy, as they parted at the gate ofthe cottage. "What makes you so kind to Freddy and me?"

"I'm not good at riddles, Teddy. Good-night, " and he went. 

Jonah, as he was not surprised to find, was expecting him, in a state ofhigh ferment. Jeffreys would fain have avoided an interview. For hewas constantly discovering that he was still far from sure of himself. That afternoon his passion had been within an ace of mastering him; andat any time he dreaded something might happen which would undo all thepenance of those last six months. He therefore resolved wisely in thepresent instance to avoid altercation as far as possible. 

"Well, sir, and what have you got to say for yourself? Where have youbeen?" demanded Jonah, in tones of lofty bitterness. 

"I have just taken Rosher home. After standing four hours on the formhe wasn't fit to walk himself. "

"Oh!" snorted Jonah, nearly bursting with indignation; "and pray how--"

"Excuse me, Trimble. If you and Mrs Trimble wish me to leave, I'll doso. If not, don't talk to me. I don't want it. "

Poor Jonah nearly had a fit. He, head man of Galloway House, knowingwhat he did, to be spoken to like this by a stuck-up--murderer!

He had prepared a scene, and had counted on coming to an understandingthen and there. And lo and behold! before he had well opened his mouth, he had been ordered to shut it by the very being whom he had at hismercy. It passed Jonah's comprehension. 

Jeffreys waited a minute to give him a chance of accepting his formeralternative. Then, concluding he had decided on the latter, he betookhimself to his own room and remained there. 

Jonah, as soon as he could recover himself sufficiently to think at all, made up his mind that, come what would, he had had enough of this sortof life. With which conviction he crushed his hat on his head, andsallied forth into the open air. 

His feet almost instinctively turned in the direction of Ash Lane; buton this occasion they went past the fatal bank and brought their ownerto a halt at the door of Ash Cottage. 

"Is Mr Rosher at home?" inquired he of the servant. 

Mr Rosher was at home--a jovial, well-to-do farmer, with a heartyYorkshire voice and a good-humoured grin on his broad face. 

"Well, lad, what is't?" he asked, as Trimble, hat in hand, was showninto the little parlour. "Man, it's the little school-maister. "

"Yes, Mr Rosher, " said Trimble; "I should like five minutes' talk withyou if you can spare the time. "

"Blaze away, lad. A've nothin' else to do. "

"I'm rather anxious about your two dear little boys, " began Trimble. 

"Thee needn't be that; they're tight lads, and learn quite fast enough. "

"It's not that, Mr Rosher, though I hope they do justice to the painswe take with them. "

"They nearly killed their mother t'other day on the tricycle, " said MrRosher, laughing like a young bull. "Was't thee or t'other young chapcame to mend t'auld bone-shaker? Twas a kindly turn to the littlefellows, and I'm sorry thee didn't stay to tea, lad. "

"We always like to try to make them happy, " said Jonah. "Indeed, thatis what I came to see you about. I'm sorry to say--"

"Thee's come to tell me why Teddy was blubbering when he got home. Thee'd better tell that to his mother, " said the father. 

"I'm so sorry to say, " pursued Jonah, beginning to wish he was over histask, "my assistant-master is disappointing me. I took him on half incharity six months ago, but lately he has been having a bad influence inthe school, and I thought it, my duty--"

"Tut, tut! The lads have been cheerier this last six months than everbefore--"

"Of course we try all we can to make them happy, and shield them fromharm, " pursued Trimble, "and I am glad you think we have made schoolhappy for them--"

"And is that all thee's come to say?" said the bewildered parent. 

"No, sir. Of course in school I can look after the boys and see theycome to no harm; but after school hours of course they are out of mycontrol, and then it is I'm afraid of their coming to mischief. Myassistant, I hear, has been in the habit of walking home with them, andfrom what I know of him he is not a desirable companion for them, and Ithink it is my duty to put you on your guard, Mr Rosher. They shouldnot be encouraged to see too much of him out of doors or bring him tothe house. "

"It bothers me why you keep the man if he's that sort!" said Mr Rosher. "What's wrong with him?"

"I'm afraid he's a bad character. I have only discovered it lately, andintend to dismiss him as soon as I get a new assistant. "

"What dost mean by a bad character? Is he a thief?"

Trimble looked very grave. 

"I wish it was no worse than that. "

The farmer's jaw dropped. 

"What?" said he. "Dost mean to tell me the man's a murderer?"

Jonah looked terribly shocked. 

"It's a dreadful thing to suspect any one, " said he, "but it would notbe right of me to let things go on without warning you. I shall keepyour boys under my own eyes all school-time; and I advise you--"

"I don't want thy advice. Take thyself off!"

Jonah saw that to prolong the interview would only make matters worse. The good father was evidently roused; but whether against him, Jonah, oragainst Jeffreys, he could scarcely tell. He departed decidedlycrestfallen, and more than half repenting of his amiable expedition. 

His misgivings were somewhat relieved next morning when Freddy and Teddyput in an appearance punctually at school-time. Jonah considered itexpedient under the circumstances not to refer to Teddy's mutinousconduct on the preceding day--a determination which afforded greatcomfort to that young gentleman and which he put down by a mysteriousprocess of reasoning to Jeffreys' good offices on his behalf. 

Jonah, however, on this particular morning felt far from comfortable. It may have been the hot sultry day, or it may have been the generaloppression of his own feelings, which gave him a sense of something--probably a thunderstorm impending. His class remarked that he was lessexacting than usual, and even Jeffreys became aware that his colleaguefor once in a way was not himself. 

The clock had just struck twelve, and the boys were beginning to lookforward to their usual break in half an hour's time, when the schoolroomdoor suddenly opened, and disclosed the broad figure of Mr Rosher, followed at a timid distance by Mrs Trimble. 

Jonah's face turned pale; Freddy and Teddy opened their eyes to theirwidest. Jeffreys, on hearing Freddy mutter "Father, " looked roundcuriously, to get a view of the father of his little friends. 

Mr Rosher recognised Trimble with a nod. 

"I've coom, you see, lad. I want to have a look at this murderer fellowthee was talking about. Where is he?"

It was a thunderclap with a vengeance! Only two persons in the roomguessed all it meant. 

"Coom, trot him out, man, " repeated the farmer, noticing the hesitationin Jonah's scared face. "Is that the chap yonder thee was telling meof?" added he, pointing to Jeffreys. 

It was all up with Galloway House, and Jonah knew it. 

"Yes, " said he. 

Jeffrey's face became livid as he sprang to his feet. 

"Stay where thou art, " said the brawny farmer, motioning him back. "Let's have a look at thee. So thee's a manslayer? Thou looks it. "

A terrible pause followed--the pause of a man who struggles for wordsthat will not come. 

He looked terrible indeed; with heaving chest and bloodless lips, andeyes like the eyes of a hunted wolf. At length he gasped--

"Liar!" and advanced towards the affrighted Jonah. 

But the sturdy Yorkshire-man stepped between. 

"Nay, nay, " said he, "one's enough. Stay where thou art, and let himgive chapter and verse--chapter and verse. He came to me last night, and said thou wast a murderer, and I've coom to see if thou art. Thoulooks one, but maybe thou'rt right to call him a liar. "

"Ask him, " gasped Jonah, "what he did to his old schoolfellow, youngForrester, and then lot him call me a liar if he likes. "

"Dost hear, lad? What was it thee did to thy old schoolfellow youngForrester? That's a fair question. Out with it. "

If Jeffreys had looked terrible a moment ago, he looked still moreterrible now, as he sank with a groan onto the bench, and turned asickened look on his accuser. 

The dead silence of the room almost stunned him. He seemed to feelevery eye that turned to him like a dagger in his heart, and there roseup in his mind a vision of that football field far away, and thesenseless figure of the boy who lay there. Everything came back. Thehowl of execration, the frightened faces, the cap lying where the boyhad flung it, even the chill autumn breeze in his face. 

He knew not how long he sat there stupefied. The voice of Mr Rosherroused him. 

"Coom, now, dost thou say liar still?"

Jeffreys struggled to his feet, no longer furious, but still moreterrible in his dejection. 

"Yes, " snapped Jonah, astonished at the effect of his accusation, andjust wise enough to see that to add to or take away from the story wouldbe to spoil it. "What did you do to your poor schoolfellow, youngForrester? Do you suppose we don't see through you?"

"Hold thy tongue, little donkey!" said the farmer; "let's hear what hehas to say. "

For a moment it seemed as if Jeffreys was about to take him at his word, and say something. But his tongue failed him at the critical moment, and he gave it up. He had caught sight of Teddy's eyes fixed on his inmingled misery and terror, and the sight unmanned him. 

He moved slowly to the door. 

They watched him, spellbound, and in a moment he would have gone, hadnot Teddy with a big sob made a spring forward and seized him by thearm. 

"Oh, Jeff it's a wicked he; we don't believe it. Freddy, we don'tbelieve it, do we? Father, he's been good to us; he never did anythingunkind. Don't have him sent away!"

This appeal fairly broke the spell. Freddy was at his brother's side inan instant, and the rest of the school, had not Mr Rosher motioned themback, would have followed him. 

"Teddy and Freddy, my lads, " said the farmer, "go to thy seats like goodlads. Let him say yea or nay to what this--little--peacher says. "

"Say you didn't, Jeff, " implored the boys. 

Jeffreys shook his head sadly. 

"I can't, " he said. "If he's dead--"

"Oh, he's dead, " put in Jonah; "I can tell you that. "

Jeffreys gave one scared look at the speaker, and then hurried from theroom. 

Mrs Trimble followed him up to his room. 

"I don't believe it all, " said she; "you never did it on purpose, you'renot so bad as that. I won't believe it even if you tell me, " said thegood lady, bursting into tears. 

Jeffreys put together his few books and garments. 

"You're going, " said she, "of course. It's no use hoping you won't. Here's two pounds you're owed--and--"

Jeffreys took the money, and kept her hand for a moment in his. 

"You are kind, " said he hoarsely. "Good-bye, Mrs Trimble. "

He kissed her hand and took up his bundle. 

At the foot of the stairs a boy's hand was laid on his arm. 

"Oh, Jeff, " whispered Teddy--he had stolen out of the schoolroom. "PoorJeff! I know you aren't wicked. Say good-bye, Jeff. What shall we do?What shall we do?"

"Good-bye, little chap, " said Jeffreys, stooping down and kissing theboy's wet cheek. 

"But, Jeff, where are you going? When will you--?"

Jeffreys was gone. 

In the schoolroom meanwhile the inevitable reaction had taken place. 

As the door closed behind Jeffreys, Jonah, hardly knowing what he did, gave vent to a hysterical laugh. 

It was the signal for an explosion such as he had little counted on. 

"Thou little dirty toad!" said the farmer, rounding on him wrathfully;"what dost mean by that? Hey? For shame!"

"Beast!" shouted Freddy, choking with anger and misery. 

"Beast!" echoed the school. 

Some one threw a wet sponge across the room, but Mr Rosher interceptedit. 

"Nay, nay, lads; don't waste your clean things on him. Freddy andTeddy, my lads--where's Teddy?--come along home. You've done withGalloway House. "

"Why, sir--" expostulated the wretched Jonah. 

"Hold thy tongue again, " roared the farmer. "Coom away, lads. Thee cantake a half-holiday to-day, all of you, and if thy parents ask why, sayFarmer Rosher will tell them. "

"I'll have you prosecuted, " growled Trimble, "for interfering with my--"

"Dost want to be shut up in yon cupboard?" roared the hot-headed farmer. And the hint was quite enough. 

Galloway House on that day turned a corner. Farmer Rosher, who had soredoubts in his own mind whether he had done good or harm by hisinterference, spoke his mind freely to his neighbours on the subject ofJonah Trimble, a proceeding in which his two sons heartily backed himup. The consequence was that that worthy young pedagogue found hisscholastic labours materially lightened--for a dozen boys are easier toteach than fifty--and had time to wonder whether after all he would nothave served his day and generation quite as well by looking after hisown affairs, as after the most unprofitable affairs of somebody else. 

CHAPTER TEN. 

TOSSED ABOUT. 

Jeffreys, as the reader will have discovered, did not possess the art ofdoing himself common justice. He had brooded so long and so bitterlyover his fatal act of violence at Bolsover, that he had come almost toforget that accident had had anything to do with poor Forrester'sinjuries. And now, when confronted with his crime, even by a despicablewretch like Trimble, he had not the spirit to hold up his head and makesome effort at any rate to clear himself of all that was charged againsthim. 

Jeffreys was still a blunderer, or else his conscience was unusuallysensitive. You and I, reader, no doubt, would have put a bold face onthe matter, and insisted the whole affair was entirely an accident, andthat we were to be pitied rather than blamed for what had happened. Anda great many people would have pitied us accordingly. But Jeffreysclaimed no pity. He saw nothing but his own ruthless fault; and hechose to take the whole burden of it, and the burden of the accidentbesides, on his own shoulders. 

And so it was he left Galloway House without a word, and cast himselfand his bad name once more adrift on a pitiless world. 

But as he walked on he was not thinking of Galloway House, or FarmerRosher, or Freddy or Teddy. The last words of Trimble rang in his ears, and deafened him to all beside. 

"He's dead--_I_ can tell you that!"

It never occurred to him to wonder whence Jonah had derived hisinformation, or whether it was true or false. 

Mr Brampton's letter five months ago had left little hope of the boy'srecovery, but not till now had Jeffreys heard any one say, in so manywords "He is dead. " Jonah apparently knew the whole story. How he haddiscovered it, it was useless to guess. And yet for a moment Jeffreyswas tempted to return and seize his accuser by the throat and demand thetruth of him. But he dismissed the notion with a shudder. 

His steps turned, half mechanically, half by chance, towards hisguardian's house. He had never been in that quarter of York since thenight of his expulsion, and he did not know why of all places he shouldjust now turn thither. His guardian, as he well knew, was even morepitiless and cynical than ever, and any hope of finding shelter or restunder his roof he knew to be absurd. He might, however, be out; indeed, he had spoken of going to America, in which case Mrs Jessop might bethere alone. 

One clings to the idea of a home; and this place, such as it was, wasthe only place which for Jeffreys had ever had any pretensions to theblessed name. His expectations--if he had any--vanished as he abruptlyturned the corner of the street and stood in front of the house. Theshutters on the lower floor were closed, and the windows above werecurtainless and begrimed with dust. A notice "To let, " stared out froma board beside the front door, and the once cosy little front garden wasweed-grown and run to seed. 

Jeffreys felt a stronger man as he walked out of York in the deepeningtwilight. He was in the way of old associations just now, for almostwithout knowing it he found himself quitting York by way of Ash Lane, every step of which by this time was familiar--painfully familiarground. The bank on which he had last found Jonah's knife had now newattractions for him. Not so a garden shed, by the back of which hepassed, and whence proceeded the glimmer of a light, and the sound ofboys' voices. 

He could not help standing a moment, and motioning Julius close to hisheels, listening. 

"It's broken worse than ever now, " said Freddy. "It's no use trying tomend it. "

"Jeff could have done it. I say, Freddy, whatever did father mean?"

"I don't know. All I know is I'll never forget dear old Jeff; shallyou?"

"Rather not. I'm going to pray for him once a day, Freddy. "

"All serene--so shall I. "

Jeffreys stole one hurried glance through the cracked timbers, and thenwalked away quickly and with a heart brim full. 

Whenever in after days his soul needed music, he had only to call up thevoices of those two little fellows in the shed as he last heard them. Little heeded they what came of their childish words. Little heededthey that they were helping to make a true man of the Jeff they loved, and that whatever true strength he came to possess for fighting life'sbattles and bearing life's burdens, he owed it beyond any one to them!

He walked on rapidly and steadily for two hours, until the lastlingering glow of the summer light had faded from the sky, and thelights of York behind him were lost in the night. A field of new-mownhay provided him with the most luxurious bedroom man could desire. 

The thought uppermost in his mind when he awoke next morning was youngForrester. He felt that it would be useless for him to attempt anythingor hope for anything till he had ascertained whatever was to be knownrespecting the boy's fate. Trimble's words, which rang in his ears, hada less positive sound about them. At least he would find out forhimself whether they were true or false. 

Grangerham, the small country town in which he had ascertained Forresterlived, and to which he had been removed from Bolsover, was far enoughaway from York. Jeffreys had many a time sought it out on the map, andspeculated on how it was to be reached, should a summons arrive to callhim thither. It was seventy miles away as the crow flies. Jeffreys hadthe way there by heart. He knew what time the trains left York, whatwere the junctions along the line, and how far the nearest railwaystation would take him to his journey's end. 

Now, however, it was a question of walking, not riding. The two poundsin his pocket, all he possessed, scarcely seemed his at all as long asMr Frampton's school bill was unsettled. At any rate, it was tooprecious to squander in railway fares for a man who could walk fornothing. 

It was a long, harassing journey, over moors and along stony roads. Itwas not till the evening of the second day that the footsore travellerread on a sign-post the welcome words, "Four miles to Grangerham. " Hehad eaten little and rested little on the way, and during the lasttwelve hours a broiling sun had beaten down pitilessly upon him. 

If the journey of the two last days had been exhausting, the fruitlesssearch of the day that followed was fully as wearisome. Grangerham wasa pretty big manufacturing town, and Jeffreys' heart sank within him assoon as he entered it. For who among these busy crowds would be likelyto know anything of an invalid old lady and her cripple grandson?

In vain he enquired in street after street for Mrs Forrester's address. Some had not heard the name. Some knew a public-house kept by one TonyForrester. Some recollected an old lady who used to keep acostermonger's stall and had a baby with fits. Others, still moretantalising, began by knowing all about it, and ended by showing thatthey knew nothing. At the police-office they looked at him hard, anddemanded what he wanted with anybody of the name of Forrester. At thepost-office they told him curtly they could not tell him anything unlesshe could give the old lady's address. 

At length, late in the day, he ventured to knock at the door of theclergyman of that part of the town in which the only few residents'houses seemed to be, and to repeat his question there. 

The clergyman, a hard-working man who visited a hundred families in aweek, at first returned the same answer as everybody else. No, he didnot know any one of that name. 

"Stay, " he said; "perhaps you mean old Mrs Wilcox. "

Jeffreys groaned. Everybody had been suggesting the name of some oldlady to him different from the one he wanted. 

"She had a nephew, I think, who was a cripple. The poor fellow had hadan accident at school, so I heard. I almost think he died. I never sawhim myself, but if you come with me, I'll take you to the Wesleyanminister. I think he knows Mrs Wilcox. "

Thankful for any clue, however slight, Jeffreys accompanied the good manto the Wesleyan minister. 

"Mrs Wilcox--ah, yes, " said the latter, when his brother pastor hadexplained their errand. "She died in Torquay five months ago. She wasa great sufferer. "

"And her nephew?" inquired the clergyman. 

"Her grandson, you mean. "

Jeffreys' heart leapt. "What was his name?" he asked, excitedly. 

"Forrester; a dear young fellow he was. His mother, who died out inIndia, was Mrs Wilcox's only daughter. Yes, poor Gerard Forrester wasbrought home from school about six months ago terribly crippled by anaccident. It was said one of his school-fellows had--"

"But where is he now? tell me, for mercy's sake!" exclaimed Jeffreys. 

"I cannot tell you that, " replied the minister. "His grandmother wasordered to Torquay almost as soon as he arrived home. He remained hereabout a month in charge of his old nurse; and then--"

"He's not dead!" almost shouted Jeffreys. 

"Then, " continued the minister, "when the news came of his grandmother'sdeath, they left Grangerham. From all I can hear, Mrs Wilcox died verypoor. I believe the nurse intended to try to get him taken into ahospital somewhere; but where or how I never knew. I was away in Londonwhen they disappeared, and have never heard of them since. "

"Isn't his father alive?"

"Yes. I wrote to him by Mrs Wilcox's request. He is an officer inIndia in the Hussars. I have had no reply, and cannot be sure that theletter has reached him, as I see that his regiment has been dispatchedto Afghanistan. "

"Did you never hear from the nurse?" asked Jeffreys. 

"Never. "

"And was it thought Forrester would recover?"

"I believe it was thought that if he got special treatment in a hospitalhis life might be spared. "

This then was all Jeffreys could hear. Jonah Trimble might be rightafter all. How he abused himself for flying from York as he had donewithout extracting the truth first! It was too late now. He begged tobe taken to see the house where Forrester lived. It was occupied by anew tenant, and all he could do was to pace up and down in front of it, in a lonely vigil, and try to imagine the pale face which only a fewmonths back had gazed wearily from those windows on the active lifewithout, in which he was never more to take a share. 

He had not the courage to wait that night in Grangerham, although theminister urged him and Julius, tramps as they were, to do so. He feltstifled in these narrow streets, and longed for the fresh heath, whereat least he could be alone. 

He accepted, however, the hospitality of his guide for half an hour inorder to write a short note to Mr Frampton. He said:--

"I have come here hoping to hear something of Forrester. But I can hearnothing more than what you told me four months ago. He has left here incharge of his old nurse, and has not been heard of since. You willwonder why I have left York. The story of what happened at Bolsoverreached the ears of my employer's son. He accused me of it before allthe school, and added that he knew Forrester was dead. I could notstand it, and came away--though I feel now I was foolish not toascertain first how he had learned what you and I have not yet been ableto hear. It is too terrible to believe! and I cannot believe it till Ifind out for myself. Where I shall go next I do not know, and feel I donot care. My guardian has left York. I saw him two days before I cameaway, and he told me then he should refuse to pay my last half-term'sbill, which came to £7. I enclose thirty shillings now--all I have; andyou may depend on my sending the rest as soon as I can earn it; for Ishall be miserable as long as I owe a farthing to Bolsover. "

Having written this dismal letter, and having posted it with itsenclosure, he bade farewell to Grangerham, and wandered forth with thesympathetic Julius out on to the quiet heath, and there lay down--not tosleep, but to think. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN. 

WILDTREE TOWERS. 

Jeffreys spoke truly when he wrote to Mr Frampton that he did not knowand did not care where he was going next. When he awoke in his heatherybed next morning, he lay indolently for a whole hour for no other reasonthan because he did not know whether to walk north, south, east or west. He lacked the festive imagination which helps many people under similarcircumstances. It did not occur to him to toss up, nor was he aware ofthe value of turning round three times with his eyes closed and thenmarching straight before him. Had he been an errant knight, of coursehis horse would have settled the question; but as it was, he was not aknight and had not a horse. He had a dog, though. He had found Juliusin possession of the caretaker at his guardian's house, and had beggedher to let him have him. 

"Which way are we going, Julius?" inquired the dog's master, leaningupon his elbow, and giving no sign which the dog could possibly construeinto a suggestion. 

Julius was far too deep an animal not to see through an artless designlike this. But for all that he undertook the task of choosing. He rosefrom his bed, shook himself, rubbed a few early flies off his face, andthen, taking up the bundle in his teeth, with a rather contemptuoussniff, walked sedately off, in the direction of the North Pole. Jeffreys dutifully followed; and thus it was that one of the mostmomentous turns in his life was taken in the footsteps of a dog. 

Let us leave him, reader, tramping aimlessly thus o'er moor and fell, and hill and dale, leaving behind him the smoke of the cotton countryand the noisy shriek of the railway, and losing himself among the lonelyvalleys and towering hills of Westmoreland--let us leave him, footsore, hungry, and desponding, and refresh ourselves in some more cheery sceneand amidst livelier company. 

Where shall we go? for we can go anywhere. That's one of the few littleprivileges of the storyteller. Suppose, for instance, we take farewellof humble life altogether for a while, and invite ourselves into somegrand mansion, where not by the remotest possibility could Jeffreys orJeffreys' affairs be of the very slightest interest. 

What do you say to this tempting-looking mansion, marked in the map asWildtree Towers, standing in a park of I should not like to say how manyacres, on the lower slopes of one of the grandest mountains in the Lakecountry?

On the beautiful summer afternoon on which we first see it, it certainlylooks one of the fairest spots in creation. As we stand on thedoorstep, the valley opens out before us, stretching far to the south, and revealing reaches of lake and river, broad waving meadows andclustering villages, wild crags and pine-clad fells. 

We, however, do not stand on the doorstep to admire the view, or even toask admission. We have the storyteller's latchkey and invisible cap. Let us enter. As we stand in the great square hall, hung round inbaronial style with antlers, and furnished in all the luxury of moderncomfort, wondering through which of the dozen doors that open out of thesquare it would be best worth our while to penetrate, a footman, bearinga tray with afternoon tea, flits past us. Let us follow him, forafternoon tea means that living creatures are at hand. 

We find ourselves in a snug little boudoir, furnished and decorated withfeminine skill and taste, and commanding through the open French windowsa gorgeous view down the valley. Two ladies, one middle-aged, oneyoung, are sitting there as the footman enters. The elder, evidentlythe mistress of the mansion, is reading a newspaper; the younger isdividing her time between needlework and looking rather discontentedlyout of the window. 

It is quite evident the two are not mother and child. There is not theslightest trace of resemblance between the handsome aquiline face of theelder, stylishly-dressed woman, and the rounder and more sensitive faceof her quietly-attired companion. Nor is there much in common betweenthe frank eyes and mock-demure mouth of the girl, and the half-imperious, half-worried look of her senior. 

"Tell Mr Rimbolt, Walker, " says the mistress, as she puts down herpaper, and moves her chair up to the tea-table, "and Master Percy. "

A handsome gentleman, just turning grey, with an intellectual and good-humoured face, strolls into the room in response to Walker's summons. 

"I was positively nearly asleep, " he says; "the library gets more thanits share of the afternoon sun. "

"It would be better for you, dear, if you took a drive or a walk, instead of shutting yourself up with your old books. "

The gentleman laughs pleasantly, and puts some sugar in his tea. 

"You are not very respectful to my old friends, " said he. "You forgethow long we've been parted. Where's Percy?"

"Walker has gone to tell him. "

"I think he is out, " said the young lady; "he told me he was going downto the river. "

"I consider, " said Mrs Rimbolt rather severely, "he should tell _me_what he is going to do, not you. "

"But, aunt, I didn't ask him. He volunteered it. "

"Fetch your uncle's cup, Raby. "

Raby's mouth puckers up into a queer little smile as she obeys. 

Walker appears in a minute to confirm the report of Master Percy'sabsence. "He's been gone this three hours, mem. "

"Let some one go for him at once, Walker. "

"I get so terrified when he goes off like this, " says the mother;"there's no knowing what may happen, and he is so careless. "

"He has a safe neck, " replies the father; "he always does turn up. Butif you are so fidgety, why don't you send Raby to look after him?"

"If any one went with him, it would need to be some one who, instead ofencouraging him in his odd ways, would keep him in hand, and see he didnot come to any harm. "

"Oh, " says Raby, laughing, "he wouldn't take me with him if I paid him ahundred pounds. He says girls don't know anything about science andinventions. "

"He is probably right, " observes Mrs Rimbolt severely. 

"Certainly, as regards the science _he_ practises, " says her husband. "What was it he had in hand last week? Some invention for making peopleinvisible by painting them with invisible paint? Ha! ha! He invited meto let him try it on me. "

"He _did_ try it on me, " chimes in Raby. 

"It is nothing to laugh about, " says the mother; "it is much better forhim to be of an inquiring turn of mind than--idle, " adds she, lookingsignificantly at her niece's empty hand. 

"It strikes me it is we who are of an inquiring turn of mind just now, "said the father. "I fancy he'll turn up. He generally does. Meanwhile, I will go and finish my writing. " And he politely retires. 

"Raby, my dear, " says Mrs Rimbolt--Raby always knows what is comingwhen a sentence begins thus--"Raby, my dear, it does not sound nice tohear you making fun of your cousin. Percy is very good to you--"

"Oh yes!" interrupts Raby, almost enthusiastically. 

"Which makes it all the less nice on your part to make a laughing-stockof him in the presence of his own father. It may seem unlikely thatpeople should be rendered invisible--"

Mrs Rimbolt stops, conscious she is about to talk nonsense, and Rabygallantly covers her retreat. 

"I'm sure I wish I knew half what he does about all sorts of things. "

"I wish so too, " replies the aunt, severely and ungratefully. 

Several hours pass, and still Master Percy does not put in anappearance. As Mrs Rimbolt's uneasiness increases, half a dozenservants are sent out in various directions to seek the prodigal. It isan almost daily ceremony, and the huntsmen set about their task as amatter of course. No one can recollect an occasion on which MasterPercy has ever come home at the right time without being looked for. Ifthe appointed hour is four, every one feels well treated if his honourturns up at five. Nor, with the exception of his mother, and now andthen Raby, does any one dream of becoming agitated for three or fourhours later. 

When therefore, just as the family is sitting down to dinner at half-past six, Walker enters radiant to announce that Master Percy has comein, no one thinks any more about his prolonged absence, and one or twoof the servants outside say to one another that the young master must behungry to come home at this virtuous hour. 

This surmise is probably correct, for Percy presents himself in adecidedly dishevelled condition, his flannel costume being liberallybespattered with mud, and his hair very much in need of a brush andcomb. 

You cannot help liking the boy despite the odd, self-willed solemnity ofhis face. He is between fourteen and fifteen apparently, squarelybuilt, with his mother's aquiline features and his father's strongforehead. The year he has spent at Rugby has redeemed him from being alout, but it is uncertain whether it has done anything more. The masterof his house has been heard to predict that the boy would either live tobe hanged or to become a great man. Some of his less diplomatic school-fellows had predicted both things, and when at the end of a year herefused point blank to return to school, and solemnly assured his fatherthat if he was sent back he should run away on the earliest opportunity, it was generally allowed that for a youth of his age he had some decidedideas of his own. 

The chief fault about him, say some, is that he has too many ideas ofhis own, and tries to run them all together. But we are digressing, andkeeping him from his dinner. 

"My dear boy, where have you been?" says the mother; "we have beenlooking for you everywhere. "

"Oh, out!" replies Percy, hastily taking stock of the bill of fare. 

"Well, run and dress yourself, or dinner will be cold. "

"I'm too fagged, " says Percy, coolly taking a seat. "Some soup, please. "

"I can't have you sit down in that state, Percy, " says Mr Rimbolt; "itis not polite to your mother and Raby. "

"If the poor boy is tired, " says Mrs Rimbolt, "we must excuse him thisonce. "

So Mr Rimbolt, as has happened more than once before, gives in, andPercy does as he pleases. 

He does full justice to his dinner, and takes no part in theconversation, which is chiefly carried on by Mr Rimbolt, sometimes withhis wife, sometimes with Raby. At length, however, the first cravingsof appetite being subdued, he shows a readiness to put in his oar. 

"How goes the invisible paint, Percy?" asks his father, with a twinklein his eye. 

"Used up, " replies the boy solemnly. "I'm sure it would answer. Ipainted Hodge with it, and could scarcely see him at all from adistance. "

"I believe you paint yourself, " says Raby, laughing, "and that's why themen can't find you. "

Percy is pleased at this, and takes it as a recognition of his genius. He has great faith in his own discovery, and it is everything to him tofind some one else believing in it too. 

"If you like to come to the river to-morrow, I'll show you something, "says he condescendingly. "It licks the paint into fits!"

"Raby will be busy in the village to-morrow, " says her aunt. "What isit you are doing at the river?"

"Oh, ah!" solemnly responds the son, whose year at a public-school hasnot taught him the art of speaking respectfully to his parents;"wouldn't you like to know?"

"I wish you'd play somewhere else, dear. It makes me so uneasy when youare down by the river. "

"Play!" says Percy rather scornfully; "I don't play there--I work!"

"I fear you are neglecting one sort of work for another, my boy, " saysMr Rimbolt; "we never got through Virgil yet, you know--at least, youdidn't. I've been through three books since you deserted our readings. "

"Oh, Virgil's jolly enough, " replied the boy; "I'm going to finish it assoon as my experiments are over. "

"What experiments?"

"Oh, it's a dodge to--I'd show it you as soon as it's finished. It'snearly done now, and it will be a tremendous tip. "

This is all that can be extracted from the youthful man of science--atleast, by the elders. To Raby, when the family retires to the drawing-room, the boy is more confidential, and she once more captivates him byentering heart and soul into his project and entreating to be made aparty in the experiments. 

"I'd see, " says he; "but mind you don't go chattering!"

Mr Rimbolt gravitates as usual to his library, and here it is that halfan hour later his son presents himself, still in his working garb. 

"Father, " says the hopeful, "please can you give me some money?"

"Why, you have had ten shillings a week since you came home!"

"Aren't you a millionaire, father?"

"Some people say so. "

"Doesn't that mean you've got a million pounds?"

"That's what `millionaire' means. "

"Ten shillings a week is only twenty-six pounds a year. "

"Quite right, and few boys get such good pocket-money. "

"When I come into the property I shall allow my son more than that, "says Percy gravely. 

"Not if you love him as much as I love my son, " says Mr Rimbolt, with apleasant smile. 

"Good-night, father. "

"Good-night! Why, it's only half-past seven. "

"I know. I'm going to _get_ up early; I've got a lot of work to do. Besides, I'm miserable. "

"Why?"

"Because I can't get any money. "

"Why not earn some? I want some one to catalogue my books for me. Whatdo you say to doing it? I shall pay half a crown a shelf. "

Percy hesitates a bit, and looks at the bookcases, and makes a mentalcalculation. 

"That will be about twelve pounds, won't it? Have you got a book towrite the names on?"

"What! Are you going to begin now?"

"Yes. "

And Percy sits up till eleven o'clock, and succeeds in that time incataloguing after a fashion, and not badly for a first attempt, two ofthe smallest shelves in the library, for which he receives then andthere five shillings, much to his own comfort and to his father'samusement. 

Mrs Rimbolt comes into the library just as the business is concluded. 

"Why, Percy, not in bed--and so tired too!"

"Oh, I've been doing some work for father, " says the boy, chinking thetwo half-crowns in his pocket. 

"But your father, I'm sure, would not wish you to injure your health. "

"Certainly not. Percy was hard up, and has just been earning fiveshillings. "

"What do you mean--earning five shillings?"

"Yes--father's been tipping me for cataloguing his books. Jolly hardwork, but he pays on the nail, don't you, father?"

"My dear boy, " said the mother, as she and her son walks across thehall, "why did you not tell me you wanted money? You know I do notgrudge it. I don't like you to stay up so late to earn it, when youought to be resting. "

"Well, I wouldn't mind another five shillings, mother. "

The mother gives him a half-sovereign and kisses him. 

Percy, as he walks up the stairs, ruminating on his good luck, feelsconsiderably more self-respect when he looks at the two half-crowns thanwhen looking at the half-sovereign. 

At the top of the stairs he shouts down to Walker:--

"I say, wake me at six, will you? and leave my waterproof and top-bootson the hall table; and, I say, tell Mason to cut me a dozen strong ashsticks about a yard long; and, I say, leave a hammer and some tacks onthe hall table too; and tell Appleby to go by the early coach toOverstone and get me a pound of cork, and some whalebone, and some tar. Here's five shillings to pay for them. Don't forget. Tell him to leavethem at the lodge before twelve, and I'll fetch them. Oh, and tell Rabyif she wants to see what I was telling her about, she had better hangabout the lodge till I come. I'm sure to be there somewhere betweentwelve and four. "

With which the young lord of creation retires to his cubicle, leavingWalker scratching his head, and regarding the five shillings in his handin anything but a joyful mood. 

"He ought to be put on the treadmill a week or two; that's what would dohim good, " observed the sage retainer to himself; "one thing at a time, and plenty of it. A dozen ash sticks before six o'clock in the morning!What does he want with ash sticks? Now his schoolmaster, if he'd gotone, would find them particular handy. "

With which little joke Walker goes off to agitate Appleby and Mason withthe news of their early morning duties, and to put the servants' hall ina flutter by announcing for the fiftieth time that summer that either heor the young master would have to leave Wildtree Towers, because, positively--well, they would understand--a man's respect for himselfdemanded that he should draw the line somewhere, and that was just whatMaster Percy would not allow him to do. 

We have changed the scene once already in this chapter. Just before wefinish let us change it once more, and leaving beautiful Wildtree andits happy family, let us fly to a sorry, tumbledown, desolate shed fivemiles away, on the hill-side. It may have once belonged to a farm, orserved as a shelter for sheep on the mountain-slopes. But it nowscarcely possesses a roof, and no sign of a habitation is anywherevisible. 

The night has come on rainy and dark, and a weary tramp with his dog hasbeen thankful to crawl into its poor shelter and rest his limbs. Thewind has risen and howls dismally round the shed, breaking every now andthen through the loose planks, and stirring up the straw which carpetsthe place. But the traveller is too weary to heed it or the rain whichintrudes along with it, and crouching with his dog in the darkestcorner, curls himself up in true tramp fashion, and settles down tosleep. 

He has lain there two hours or more, and the mountain storm begins toabate. The dog has been uneasy for some time, and now in the midst of apeal of thunder awakens his master with a gruff yap. The sleeper sitsup in an instant. It is not the thunder that has disturbed the dog, noris it thunder that the tramp now listens to close at hand. It is thesound of voices, either inside the shed or just outside it. 

Not a strange thing, perhaps, in a storm like this, for two wayfarerslike himself to seek shelter--and yet the tramp seems startled by thesound, and signals to the dog to lie down and hold his peace. 

"Will it do?" says one voice; and the tramp perceives that the speakersare standing outside the shed under the shelter of the projecting eaves. 

"No. No good. Too well looked after, and the people about the wrongsort. "

"There's a pile of swag there--heaps. "

"Know that. Better wait till the family are away. "

"There's a child, isn't there?"

"A boy--fourteen--only child. "

"Might work it that way; eh? Get a trifle for him eh?"

"A thousand, and no questions asked. It's settled. "

"It is! Why didn't you say so? How are you going to do it?"

"Never you mind. Corporal and I have worked it out. It will be doneto-night. Moon's down at ten. You be here at midnight, and have yourhay-cart handy. Corporal and I will bring him here. We know where tofind him in daylight, and can keep him quiet in the woods till dark. "

"What then? Who's to keep him?"

"Wait till you've got him. "

"Are you sure they'll go a thousand for him?"

"Probably two. Sheer off now, and don't forget, twelve o'clock. "

The footsteps move away through the wet heather, and the tramp, waitingmotionless till the last sound has faded away, draws a long breath andcurls himself back into his roost. 

But not to sleep--to meditate a campaign. 

"Julius, " says he to the dog, who appears to be fully alive to thebrewing storm, "you and I will have to stop this business. There'll bethree to two, unless the boy fights too. We must be here at eleven, andtackle one of them before the other two come. What do you say to that?"

Julius looks only sorry the business is not to begin at once. 

Then the tramp and he go carefully into the plan of their littlecampaign, and, as soon as day dawns, go out for a walk, Julius takingcare before quitting the shed to acquaint himself with the scent of thetwo gentlemen who had lately sheltered outside it. 

The tramp spends a quiet day on the mountain, reading Homer, andadmiring the view. Towards nightfall he descends to Overstone andspends a few of his remaining pence in a frugal meal. Then, as the moondips behind the shoulder of Wild Pike, he betakes himself, with thefaithful Julius close at his heels, to the shed on the mountain-side. 

CHAPTER TWELVE. 

KIDNAPPING. 

Percy Rimbolt, despite his unusual literary labours of the past evening, rose promptly when Walker knocked at his door at six o'clock, andarrayed himself once more in his flannels. 

The storm of the night, which had disturbed Jeffreys and his dog fivemiles away, had not spread as far as Wildtree, and the early summer sunwas already hot as he sallied forth with his waterproof over one arm, and his dozen ash sticks under the other in the direction of the river. Kennedy, at the lodge, was considerably astonished to be awakened by ashower of gravel against his window, and to perceive, on looking out, the young master in full fishing order standing below, "Kennedy, Appleby's going to leave some things here for me about twelve o'clock. Mind you're in, and wait till I come for them. And if Raby comes, tellher I'll be up about then; tell her not to go away. "

"Do you want me down at the river, sir?" asked the old keeper. 

"No, keep away; and don't let any one else come below Rodnet Bridge. "With which injunction the youthful man of science went on his way, leaving Kennedy to shake his head and wonder what little game the youngmaster was up to now. 

Percy plodded on a couple of miles down the stream, considerably beyondthe park boundaries, till he reached Rodnet Bridge, under which themountain torrent slipped in a swift, deep stream. Just below thebridge, among the trees which crowded down to the water's edge, was alittle hut, used by the Wildtree keepers for depositing their basketsand nets, but now appropriated by the young heir of Wildtree for farmore important purposes. 

It was here, in fact, that during the last two days he had conceived, and begun to put into practice, the never-before-heard-of invention of amachine for enabling a swimmer to swim up-stream at the rate of eight toten miles an hour!

Percy's recent career had been made up of a large number of magnificentprojects, admirable in every respect but one--they never quite came off. Just as they neared perfection they "gave out, " and something new tooktheir place. It would be treason, however, to hint that the "anti-current swimmer" was ever likely to give out. There certainly seemed nosigns of it in the manner in which the inventor set about his task thatmorning. He had been provident enough to bring some sandwiches in hispockets (provided at the last moment by the much-enduring Walker), andon the strength of these he laboured half the morning. It would puzzleme to explain on what scientific principle the wonderful apparatus waslaid down, what mixture between the wing of a bird, the tail of a fish, and the screw of a steamer it embodied. I never was good at mechanics, and certainly Percy Rimbolt's mechanics were such as it is given but tofew to follow. Suffice it to say that by eleven o'clock the structurehad reached a critical stage, and stood still for want of the cork whichAppleby had been charged to procure. 

The day was hot, and an hour at least must elapse before the messengercould return from Overstone. Percy, therefore, improved the shininghour by a bathe in the clear stream, with whose depths he was evidentlyfamiliar. He made no attempt, pending the completion of the machine, tooppose the swift current, but diving into it from the bridge, allowedhimself luxuriously to be carried down into the shallows a hundred yardsbelow, and without even the trouble of swimming. This refreshingperformance ended, he returned to the hut and dressed. He was in theact of locking the door, preparatory to his journey up to Kennedy'slodge, when a sack was suddenly thrown over his head from behind, andnext moment he found himself pinned to the ground in the clutches of twomen. Before he was well aware of what had happened, his feet were tiedtogether, and his arms firmly lashed to his sides. The sack was liftedfrom his mouth, but not long enough to enable him to shout, for a gagwas roughly forced between his teeth; and then, while one of his captorsheld his head, the other bandaged his eyes so completely that, had henot known it, he could not have told whether it was mid-day or midnight. Thus, in almost less time than it takes to narrate it, in broaddaylight, and on the borders of his own father's estate, the unfortunatePercy was made captive, without so much as being able to give an alarmor to see the faces of his assailants. 

He was deposited comfortably on the floor of his own hut, by the side, oh, cruel fate! of his own machine, and there left to work out anynumber of problems which might occur to him during the next six hours;while his custodians, having carefully padlocked the door, retired to arespectful distance among the trees, where they could smoke their pipesin peace, and at the same time keep an eye on the approaches to theiryoung ward's dungeon. 

It did not take Percy many minutes to convince himself that any attemptto struggle or extricate himself from his bonds would be labour thrownaway. His captors were evidently well up to their business, and therewas no wriggling out of their neatly-tied bonds. Nor did the onslaughtwhich the boy made with his teeth on the gag result in anything butdisaster. It loosened at least two of his teeth, and gave him duringthe remainder of the day considerable pain in some of the others. As tohis eyes, he rubbed his forehead and the side of his head on the floor, in the hopes of shifting the bandage, but all in vain. He got it overhis ears as well as his eyes for his pains, and could scarcely hear asound. 

As the afternoon went on, the sun slanted its rays cruelly through thelittle skylight on to the spot where he lay, and the flies, attracted bythe rare chance, swarmed in under the door and through the cracks tomake merry with their defenceless victim. Had the sun been seven timesas hot, or the flies venomous and deadly, he would have preferred it, for it would have shortened his misery considerably. When at last thesun got across the window, and left him at peace, he was scarcely in aposition to appreciate his mercies. 

Not long after the distant Overstone chimes had sounded four, his heart(about the only unfettered portion of him) leapt to his mouth as heheard his name called in Raby's voice outside. Nor was his the onlyheart whom that cheery sound caused to palpitate. The two watchers inthe wood above heard it, and prepared to decamp at a moment's notice, should the girl display any undue curiosity as to the contents of thehut. 

But she did not. She was used to seeing it padlocked, and to listen invain for an answer to her call. Percy was evidently abroad, probablywaiting for her up at Kennedy's lodge. So she hurried back. As soon asshe had disappeared beyond the bridge, the two men put their pipes intotheir pockets. 

"If they've begun looking for him we'd best sheer off, Corporal. "

"That's right, " replied Corporal--"at once. "

Whereupon they descended from their perches, and having looked carefullyup and down, unlocked the dungeon door. 

Their prisoner was lying so still and motionless, that for an instantthey had their misgivings as to whether the gag had not been a trifletoo much for his respiration. But a moment's examination satisfied themthe boy was alive--much to their relief. 

The sack was once more brought into requisition, and turned out to be agreat deal larger than it looked, for it was found quite roomy enough toaccommodate the whole of the person of Percy Rimbolt, who in thisdignified retreat quitted the scene of his labours on the back of one ofhis captors. The hut having been once more carefully padlocked, theparty travelled at least a mile into the depths of the lonely woods, where at least there was no lack of shade and seclusion. 

Percy was deposited somewhat unceremoniously on the ground, and left inthe sack (with just sufficient aperture in the region of his nose toallow of respiration) for some hours more, unheeded by his custodiansexcept when he attempted to move or roll over, on which occasions he wassharply reminded of his duty to his company by an unceremonious kick. 

Some time later--it may have been an hour or two, or only five minutes--he was aware of a conversation taking place outside his sack. 

"Risky, " said one voice. 

"More risky not to do it, " said the other. "What use would he be if hewas a dead 'un? Besides, how are we to carry him all that way?"

"All right, have it your way, " said the other surlily. 

Then Percy was conscious of some one uncording the mouth of the sack anduncovering his head. 

"Young feller, " said the gruffer of the two voices, "do you want yourthroat cut?"

Percy shook his head in mild deprecation of such a desire. 

"Do you want your tongue cut out?"

Once more Percy disclaimed any consuming anxiety in that direction. 

"Then you won't move a step or speak a word unless you're told. Do youmark that?"

The boy nodded; he did mark it. 

Thereupon, much to his relief, the gag was taken from his mouth, and hefelt himself hauled out of the ignominious sack. 

"A drink!" he gasped. 

"There he goes; I said he'd do it. Clap the gag on again. "

Poor blindfolded Percy could only wave his head appealingly. He wouldsooner have his throat cut than feel that gag back between his teeth. His captors let him off this once, and one of them untied the cords fromhis legs. He was too cramped to attempt to make any use of this partialliberty, even had he been so minded, and sank down, half fainting, tothe ground. 

"Give him a drink, " said one of the voices; and in a moment or two hefelt a cup of delicious water held to his parched lips, reviving him asif by magic. A few coarse pieces of bread were also thrust between hislips; these he swallowed painfully, for his jaws were stiff and aching, and his teeth had almost forgotten their cunning. However, when themeal was over he felt better, and would gladly have slept upon it for anhour or two, had he been allowed. 

But this was no part of his captors' programme. They had not relaxedhis bonds to indulge any such luxurious craving. Overstone Church hadalready sounded eleven, and they were due in an hour at the mountainshed. 

"Get up and step out, " said one of them, pulling the boy roughly to hisfeet. 

"All very well, " said Percy to himself, as he stumbled forward on hiscramped limbs; "they'll have to give me a leg up if they want me to gothe pace. Where are we going to next, I'd like to know?"

"Come, stir yourself, " said the man again, accompanying his words by arough shake. 

Percy responded by toppling over on his face. He who knew the way toswim against stream ten miles an hour, was just now unable to walk halfa dozen paces on solid ground. 

"Best shove him in the sack again, " growled the other man. 

The bare mention of that sack startled poor Percy to his feet. If hemight only have spoken he could easily have explained the triflingdifficulty which prevented his "stepping out. " As it was, all he coulddo was to struggle forward bravely for a few more paces, and then againfall. The men seemed to perceive that there was something more thanmere playfulness in this twice-repeated performance, and solved thedifficulty by clutching him one under each arm, and materially assistinghis progress by dragging him. 

Any of Percy's acquaintances would have been greatly shocked had theybeen privileged to witness this triumphal midnight progress across themoors; his dragging legs feebly trying to imitate the motions ofwalking, but looking much more like kneeling, his head dropped forwardon his chest, his shoulders elevated by the grip of his conductors underhis pinioned arms, and his eyes bandaged as never a blind-man's-buffcould bind them. 

It was a long weary march that; but to Percy it was luxury compared withthe morning among the flies on the hut floor. His conductors settledinto a jog-trot, which the light weight of the boy did not much impede;and Percy, finding the motion not difficult, and on the whole soothing, dropped off into a half-doze, which greatly assisted in passing thetime. 

At length, however, he became aware of a halt and a hurried consultationbetween his captors. 

"Is he there? Whistle?"

Corporal gave a low whistle, which after a second or two was answeredfrom the hill-side. 

"That's all right!" said the other, in tones of relief. "See anythingof the cart?"

Corporal peered round in the darkness. 

"Yes--all right down there. "

"Come on, then. Keep your eye on Jim, though, he's a mighty hand atgoing more than his share. "

"Trust me, " growled Corporal. 

Then Percy felt himself seized again and dragged forward. 

In about five minutes they halted again, and the whistle was repeated. 

The answer came from close at hand this time. 

"All square?" whispered Corporal. 

"Yes!" replied a new indistinct voice--"come on. "

"Jim's screwed again, " said the other man; "I can tell it by his voice;there's no trusting him. Come on. "

They had moved forward half a dozen steps more, when Corporal suddenlyfound his head enveloped in a sack--a counterpart of his own--while atthe same moment the other man was borne to the ground with a great dog'sfangs buried in his neckcloth. 

"Hold him!" called Jeffreys to the dog, as he himself applied hisenergies to the subjugation of the struggling Corporal. 

It was no easy task. But Jeffreys, lad as he was, was a young Samson, and had his man at a disadvantage. For Corporal, entangled with thesack and unprepared for the sudden onslaught, staggered back and fell;and before he could struggle to his feet Jeffreys was on him, almostthrottling him. It was no time for polite fighting. If Jeffreys didnot throttle his man, his man, as he perfectly well knew, would do morethan throttle him. So he held on like grim death, till Corporal, halfsmothered by the sack and half-choked by his assailant's clutch, howledfor quarter. 

Then for the first time Jeffreys felt decidedly perplexed. If he letCorporal go, Corporal, not being a man of honour, might turn on him andmake mincemeat of him. If, on the other hand, he called the dog off theother man to hold Corporal while he bound him captive, the other manmight abuse his opportunity in a like manner. The boy was evidently tooexhausted to take any part in the encounter? What could he do?

After turning the matter over, he decided that Julius was the mostcompetent individual to settle the business. The dog was having a veryeasy time with the abject villain over whom he was mounting guard, andcould well undertake a little more than he had at present on his hands. 

"Fetch him here, Julius, " called Jeffreys, giving Corporal an additionalgrip; "come here, you fellow, along with the dog. "

The fellow had nothing for it but to obey; and in a couple of minutes hewas lying across the body of Corporal, while Julius stood fiercely overthem both. 

"Come here, boy, " called Jeffreys next to Percy; "let me take off thosecords. " Percy groped his way to him. 

"What are you going to do with me?" he gasped. 

"Loose you; and if you're half a man you'll help me tie up these brutes. Come on--watch them there, Julius. Why, you're blindfolded, too, andhow frightfully tight you're corded!"

"I've been like that since twelve o'clock. "

A few moments sufficed to unfasten the captive's arms and clear hiseyes. 

"Now you, " said Jeffreys, indicating the topmost of Julius's captiveswith his toe, "put your hands behind your back!"

The fellow obeyed hurriedly; he had had quite enough of Julius'sattentions already to need more. 

Jeffreys and Percy between them lashed first his wrists together, andthen his elbows tightly to his sides. Then they secured his feet andknees in the same manner. 

"He'll do--let him go, Julius, " and prisoner Number 1 was rolled over, to make room for Number 2 to undergo a similar process of pinioning. 

It was fortunate that the hay-cart below, of which and its ownerJeffreys and Julius had already taken possession at their leisure, hadbeen liberally provided with cord, or their supply would have beeninadequate to the strain put upon it. 

At last, however, Corporal and his friend were as securely tied up asthey themselves could have done it, and dragged into the shed. It waspitch dark, and they neither of them at first perceived a third occupantof the tenement in the person of their fellow-conspirator, who waslying, bound like themselves, on the floor, where for an hour at leasthe had been enjoying the sweets of solitary meditation. 

"Now, Julius, " said Jeffreys, when his three guests were duly deposited, "you'll have to watch them here till I come back. Hold your tongues, all of you, or Julius will trouble you. Watch them, good dog, and stayhere. "

"Now, " said he to the boy, when they found themselves outside, "what'syour name?"

"Percy Rimbolt. "

"Where do you live?"

"Wildtree Towers, five miles away. "

"We can be there in an hour. We may as well use this cart, which wasmeant to drive you in another direction. Can you walk to it, or shall Icarry you?"

Percy, as one in a dream, walked the short distance leaning on hisrescuer's arm. Then, deposited on the soft hay, too weary to troublehimself how he got there, or who this new guardian might be, he droppedoff into an exhausted sleep, from which he was only aroused by the soundof his parents' voices as the cart pulled up at the door of WildtreeTowers. 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN. 

POLICEMAN JULIUS. 

Wildtree Towers had been thrown into a state of unmistakable panic when, at the usual hour of retiring for the night, Percy had not put in anappearance. His absence at dinner-time agitated no one but his mother;and the search instituted at her bidding began languidly, and with theusual assurance of a speedy discovery. But as hour passed hour and notidings came, things began to look serious, and even Walker pulled along face. 

Midnight came, and still no tidings. Appleby came up to the house for alantern, but had nothing to report beyond the fact that the search sofar had been unsuccessful. The minutes dragged on for the unhappywatchers. It was harder far for them to sit there in the hall, listening to the unsympathetic tick of the clock and starting at everysound on the gravel without, than it was for the father to tramp throughthe woods and trace the footsteps along the river's bank. 

At last the clock struck two, and scarcely had the chimes ceased, whenWalker put up his finger, and exclaimed, --

"Hist!"

A moment of terrible silence ensued. Then on their quickened hearingthere came a distant rumble of wheels. Almost at the same instantfootsteps came tearing up the gravel drive. It was Appleby, who rushedinto the midst of the group assembled on the doorstep. 

"All right--he's found!" gasped the lad. 

"Is he alive?" cried the mother. 

"On a cart!" exclaimed the panting Appleby. 

Mrs Rimbolt gave a little shriek, and fell into her husband's arms. Raby, nerved by the very agony of the suspense, rushed out and ran downthe drive to meet the cart. 

"Is Percy there?" she cried. 

The cart stopped abruptly, and a strange voice replied, --

"Yes--safe and well and fast asleep. "

The words fell like music on the girl's ears. It was too dark to seeanything but the shadowy form of the cart and of a man walking at thehorse's head. She darted back to the house with the joyful news, and inanother minute the cart stood at the door. Percy, who was decidedlyenjoying his sleep, felt by no means as grateful as he should have beento find himself disturbed at this early hour of the night. 

"All serene! all serene!" he growled, in response to his mother'scaresses and Walker's effusive shaking of the hand. "I'm all right, mother; I want to go to bed. "

"Get the hot bath ready, " said Mrs Rimbolt to the servants. "My poorboy!"

"I tell you I'm all serene; can't you let me go to bed?" said the half-awake Percy. "I don't want anything except sleep. "

"Walker, help Master Percy up to bed; let him take our room, and light afire in it, and put hot bottles in the bed. "

Percy, thankful to get back to his slumbers at any price, allowed Walkerto help him up stairs. At the door of his own room he stopped. 

"That will do; you can cut. Walker. "

"But you're to have the best room and a fire--"

"You be hanged!" exclaimed the boy, unceremoniously slamming the door inWalker's face, and locking himself in. 

Downstairs, meanwhile, Jeffreys was being besieged with questions on allhands, which he endeavoured as best he could to answer. Mr Rimbolt, however perceiving that very little good was to be got out of thisconfused cross-examination, asked him to follow him into the library, once more suggesting to his wife and niece that they should go to bed. Jeffreys was thankful to find himself in a serene atmosphere, anddespite all the agitation and excitement of the day, his heart warmed ashe looked round on the bookshelves and their friendly occupants. 

"Now, " said Mr Rimbolt, who had made no attempt to take part in thebabel outside, "will you please tell me everything?"

Jeffreys obeyed, and told his story in a concise and intelligent manner, which convinced Mr Rimbolt he had not only an honest man but agentleman to deal with. The master of Wildtree was not an effusive man, and if Jeffreys had looked to be overwhelmed with grateful speeches hewould have been disappointed. But he had not looked for it, and valuedfar more the quiet confidential manner in which Mr Rimbolt entered intoall the details of the narrative. 

"Then, " said the latter, when the story was ended, "as a matter of factyou have the three ruffians penned in the shed by your dog at thismoment--an excellent piece of management. "

He rang his bell, and Walker, who had felt quite out of it for the half-hour, appeared with great promptitude. 

"Walker, are any of the men about still?"

"Appleby is holding this man's horse at the hall door, sir. "

"Send Appleby here, and take the horse and cart round to the farm. "

Poor Walker! This was a sad cut. The farm was half a mile away, acrossthe park; and this order meant that for another hour at least he must bean outsider in the drama. 

"Appleby, " said Mr Rimbolt, when that jaunty youth appeared, "takeBenbow, and ride as quickly as you can, to the police-office atOverstone. Tell the inspector with my compliments, to meet me withthree constables at Rodnet Bridge at six o'clock, that is, in threehours. Come back as quickly as you can, and have the dog-cart at thedoor at five. "

"Now, " said he to Jeffreys, when these various matters of business hadbeen put in train, "we may as well occupy our time by getting somethingto eat, supper and breakfast in one--I dare say you are hungry. "

As Jeffreys had scarcely eaten anything for three days--in fact, sincehis visit to Grangerham--he could honestly admit being ready for a meal. 

"I'm afraid we must forage for ourselves, unless some one is about, "said Mr Rimbolt, leading the way to the pantry. 

It was a curious spectacle that of the millionaire and the tramptogether investigating the contents of the pantry shelves and lockers, lifting up dish-covers here, and critically testing the consistency ofpie-crusts there. They made a fairly good selection of the good thingswhich came nearest to hand, and retiring with them to the adjacentkitchen, accomplished a meal more luxurious to Jeffreys' mind than anyhe had tasted since he left Bolsover. 

This done, to his great satisfaction they adjourned once more to thelibrary, where, while Mr Rimbolt took a brief nap, he regaled himselfwith the luxury of a prowl among the bookshelves, by the light of thedawning day. So absorbed was he in this occupation that he did not hearthe sound of the dog-cart at the front door, or heed Mr Rimbolt's firstsummons to start. 

"You're fond of books, surely, " said that gentleman, as the two got upinto the trap and drove off, with Appleby perched behind. 

"I love them, " said Jeffreys, in the same tone of sincerity which hadattracted the York bookseller. 

"You're a reader, then?"

"I would be if I had the chance, " said Jeffreys. 

"You are thinking of my library, " said Mr Rimbolt; "but it doesn'tfollow, you know, that having a house full of books makes a reader. Aman may often get more good out of one tattered volume than out of anentire Russia-bound library. "

"I can quite believe that, " said Jeffreys. 

"Probably you know what a favourite book is?" said Mr Rimbolt rathercuriously. 

Jeffreys replied by producing his well-worn copy of Homer, and it wouldbe hard to say which of these two foolish persons evinced the mostenthusiasm in discovering that they both alike had a friend in the oldGreek bard. At any rate the discovery levelled at once the socialdifferences which divided them; and in the discussion which ensued, Iblush to say they forgot, for the time being, all about Percy, and theshed on the mountain-side, and the three gentlemen there to whom thegenial Julius was doing the honours. 

The appearance of the inspector and three constables at Rodnet Bridgebrought the two unpractical excursionists on Mount Olympus abruptly backto level ground. The business was soon explained. The police, ofcourse, knew all about the "parties"--when do they not? They had beenfollowing them up for days, had had their suspicions of that mountainshed for weeks, and so on. They couldn't exactly say they had known allabout the attempt to kidnap last night; but they knew all about it now, for Appleby had let it out, and the "active and intelligent" inconsequence had nothing to learn. Half an hour brought them to themountain-side. Mr Rimbolt and Jeffreys dismounted, leaving Appleby incharge of the trap, while they, followed in single file by the police, ascended the narrow track towards the shed. Half-way up, Jeffreyswhistled; and a joyous bark from Julius assured the party that theirgame was safe. 

"You'd better let me go first, " said Jeffreys to the inspector, whoshowed some anxiety to be foremost in the capture, "unless you want mydog to fly at you. "

The official fell back promptly, his native modesty getting the betterof his zeal; and the party halted twenty yards from the shed whileJeffreys advanced to reconnoitre. He saw at a glance that things werenot exactly as he had left them. Two out of the three prisonersremained securely bound, but the unlucky Corporal had slipped his feetfrom the cords, and paid dearly for his folly. Julius had him down onthe ground, daring him to move a limb or even turn his head on pain ofunheard-of laceration. The wretched fellow had cursed a thousand timeshis own artfulness. For three hours he had lain thus, not daring tostir a muscle; and if ever a night's experiences are enough to turn thehair grey, Corporal should not have a single black lock left thatmorning. 

"Come off, Julius, and let them alone, " said Jeffreys. 

Julius obeyed somewhat reluctantly, though the pleasant task ofwelcoming his master's return reconciled him somewhat to the abandonmentof his sovereignty. Jeffreys beckoned to the party to advance. 

"These are the three men, sir, " said he to Mr Rimbolt. 

"Yes, sir, these are the parties, " said the inspector (who had never seteyes on the men before), advancing towards Corporal as he slowly raisedhimself from the ground. 

Julius, greatly to the officers' alarm, made a last attempt to asserthis property in the captives, and in Corporal in particular; and in sodoing came very near doing a grievous injury to the arm of the law. ButJeffreys' authoritative order to him to come in and he down allowed thearrest to proceed without any further protest than a few discontentedyaps as the cords were removed from the prisoners' legs, and they wereled off by the force. 

"We had better go to Overstone, too, " said Mr Rimbolt, "and see theseruffians safely quartered. The assizes are coming on in a week or two. Do you live anywhere near here?"

"No, " said Jeffreys. "Julius and I are on a walking tour at present. "

Mr Rimbolt looked at his companion, and for the first time took noticeof his travel-stained, shabby appearance. 

"You mean, " said he, guessing the truth, "you have no particular addressat present?"

"Quite so, " replied Jeffreys, flushing up uncomfortably. 

Mr Rimbolt said nothing more just then. They had a busy hour or two atOverstone arranging for the comfortable housing of their threeprisoners, until the law should decide as to their more permanentresidence. Then, having taken farewell of the police, and returningtowards the dog-cart, Jeffreys stopped abruptly and said, raising hishat, --

"Good-bye, sir. "

Mr Rimbolt looked at him in surprise. 

"You are not going, surely!" said he. "You must come back to the housewith me. "

"Thank you; Julius and I have a long journey before us, and must bestarting. "

"You are only on a walking tour, you know. There is a great deal to seeround here. The place is worth exploring, " said Mr Rimbolt feelingalmost as embarrassed as his companion. 

"We shall be back here for the assizes, " said Jeffreys. 

"Nonsense, my friend!" said Mr Rimbolt, taking the bull by the horns;"I insist on your coming back with me now, if it's only to ask how Percyis after his night's excitement. Besides, you have not half exploredthe library. "

Whether it was the cordiality of this delicate invitation, or themention of the library, or both combined, I cannot say; but Jeffreys, with some misgivings, yielded, and ascended the dog-cart. 

"The ladies would never forgive me, " said Mr Rimbolt rather unwisely, "if I let you go without giving them an opportunity of thanking you foryour goodness to Percy. "

Jeffreys was sorry he had yielded. Had he only had Mr Rimbolt and thecool Percy to deal with, he could have resigned himself to the ordeal. But the threat of being thanked by the ladies quite disconcerted him. 

"I'm--I'm afraid I'm not very--tidy, " stammered he. "I'd really rather, if you don't object, go on. Besides, Julius--"

Mr Rimbolt laughed good-humouredly. 

"Julius is not shy, and wants breakfast and a rest after his night'swork, don't you, Julius?"

Julius could not deny that he was very ready for both. Jeffreys gave itup, and with much sinking of heart awaited their arrival at WildtreeTowers. To his infinite relief, the ladies were not visible. MrsRimbolt, it was reported, was confined to her bed by the effects of herrecent agitation, and Miss Atherton was out. Master Percy was stillfast asleep. It broke the fall considerably to find himself left stillto the gentlemanly and unembarrassing attentions of his host. 

Julius was led with honour to the kitchen, there to be regaled in abaronial fashion, which it was well for his morals and digestion was nota daily festival. Jeffreys, having seen him comfortably curled up on amat, returned to the library. His host was pacing up and down thefloor, evidently a little nervous, and Jeffreys instinctively felt thatthe ordeal was upon him. Mr Rimbolt, however, began by a littlefencing. 

"I recollect taking a very pleasant tour through this district with twocollege friends when I was at Oxford. See, here is the map I had withme at the time, and the route marked. We were rather a rackety party, and boasted that we would go in a straight line from Ambleside to thesea, and stick at nothing. Here's the line, you see. That straightline took us over one or two places I wouldn't care to try now. ButOxford men, they said in those days, had no necks to break. Are you aUniversity man?"

Jeffreys glanced up, half doubtful whether the question was asked inseriousness or ironically. 

"No, sir, unfortunately not. "

"Well, " said Mr Rimbolt, "it has its advantages and disadvantages. Youwould, I dare say, value it; but for the serious work of life it maysometimes be unsettling. Is it fair to ask what your profession is, MrJeffreys?"

"None at all just now. I was till lately usher in a private school, "replied Jeffreys, wincing. 

Mr Rimbolt observed the wince, and delicately steered away from thetopic. "Ah, that must be a monotonous calling, and you, with your loveof books and literary tastes, would find it specially irksome. You mustforgive me if I take an interest in your affairs, Mr Jeffreys. May Iask if you have any engagement in prospect?"

"None at all, " said Jeffreys. 

"My reason for asking is a selfish one, quite, and has been suggested bythe interest you take in my library. I have been inquiring for a monthor two for some one who will assist me as a private librarian. The factis, Mr Jeffreys, " continued Mr Rimbolt, noticing the look of surprisedpleasure in his listener's face, "with my time so much occupied inparliamentary and other duties, I find it quite impossible to attend tothe care of my books as I should wish. I made up my mind mostreluctantly some time ago that I should have to entrust the duty to someone else, for it was always my pride that I knew where every book I hadwas to be found. But my collection has grown beyond my control andwants a regular custodian. Look here, " said he, opening a folding doorat the end of the room. 

Jeffreys saw another room, larger than the one he was in, lined withshelves, and crowded on the floor with heaps of books in most admireddisorder. 

"It was no use, " said Mr Rimbolt half pathetically. "I cherished thehope as long as I was able of reducing this chaos to order, and puttingaway each one of these treasures (for they are no common volumes) in aplace of its own. Every day it grows worse. I've fought against it andput it off, because I could find no one who would undertake it as muchfor the love of the work as for the small salary to which a privatelibrarian would be entitled. Now you see the selfish reason I have formentioning the matter to you, Mr Jeffreys. I offer you nothing to jumpat; for it will need sheer hard work and a lot of drudgery to overtakethe arrears of work, and after that I doubt if the keeping up of thelibrary will leave you much leisure. You would incur no littleresponsibility either, for if I handed the care of the library to you, Ishould hold you responsible for every volume in it, and should expectyou to know something of the inside of the books as well as the outside. You may think a salary of £100 a year hardly adequate to this amount ofwork and responsibility; if so I must not press you further, for that isthe sum I have arranged to give, and cannot see my way to offering more. It would include residence here, and board, of course. "

Jeffreys felt almost dazzled by the prospect thus deprecatingly unfoldedby Mr Rimbolt. Had the offer been made in any less delicate way; hadit savoured of charity to the outcast, or reward to the benefactor, hewould have rejected it, however tempting. As it was, it seemed like theopening of one of the gates of Providence before him. The work promisedwas what of all others he coveted; the salary, with the casually-thrownin addition of board and lodging, seemed like affluence; his employerwas a gentleman, and the opportunities of study and self-improvementwere such as fall to the lot of few. Above all, in hard work amongthose quiet and friendly bookshelves he would find refuge from his badname, and perhaps be able to establish for himself what he had hithertostriven for in vain--a character. 

"I am most grateful, sir, " said he, "if you really think I should suityou. "

"I think you would, " said Mr Rimbolt, in a tone which gratifiedJeffreys far more than if he had launched out into idle flattery andcompliments. 

And so it was settled. Jeffreys could scarcely believe what hadhappened to him when, half an hour later, Mr Rimbolt being called awayon business, he found himself taking a preliminary survey of his newpreserves, and preparing himself seriously for his duties as privatelibrarian at Wildtree Towers. 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN. 

SNOB AND SNUB. 

Jeffreys was not long in finding out the best and the worst of his newlot at Wildtree Towers. To an ordinary thick-skinned fellow, with hislove of books and partiality for boys, his daily life during the sixmonths which followed his introduction under Mr Rimbolt's roof mighthave seemed almost enviable. The whole of each morning was devoted tothe duties of the library, which, under his conscientious management, gradually assumed the order of a model collection. A librarian is born, not made, and Jeffreys seemed unexpectedly and by accident to havedropped into the one niche in life for which he was best suited. MrRimbolt was delighted to see his treasures gradually emerging from thechaos of an overcrowded lumber-room into the serene and dignifiedatmosphere of a library of well-arranged and well-tended volumes. Heallowed his librarian _carte blanche_ with regard to shelves andbinding. He agreed to knock a third room into the two which alreadyconstituted the library, and to line it with bookcases. He even wentthe length of supporting a clever bookbinder at Overstone for severalmonths with work on his own volumes, and, greatest sacrifice of all, forebore his craze of buying right and left for the same space of timeuntil the arrears of work should be overtaken, and a clear idea could beformed of what he already had and what he wanted. Jeffreys revelled inthe work, and when he discovered that he had to deal with one of themost valuable private collections in the country, his pride and sense ofresponsibility advanced step by step. He occupied his leisure hours inthe study of bibliography; he read books on the old printers and theirworks; he spent hours with the bookbinder and printer at Overstone, studying the mechanism of a book; he even studied architecture, inconnexion with the ventilation and lighting of libraries, and began toteach himself German, in order to be able to master the stores of book-lore buried in that rugged language. 

All this, then, was congenial and delightful work. He was left his ownmaster in it, and had the pride of seeing the work growing under hishands: and when one day Mr Rimbolt arrived from London with a great manin the world of old books, for the express purpose of exhibiting to himhis treasures, it called an honest flush to the librarian's face to hearthe visitor say, "Upon my word, Rimbolt, I don't know whether tocongratulate you most on your books or the way in which they are kept!Your librarian is a genius!"

If all his life could have been spent in the shelter of the libraryJeffreys would have had little to complain of. But it was not, and outof it it needed no great discernment to perceive that he had anythingbut a friend in Mrs Rimbolt. She was not openly hostile; it was notworth her while to wage war on a poor domestic, but she seemed for allthat to resent his presence in the house, and to be possessed of a sortof nervous desire to lose no opportunity of putting him down. 

After about a week, during which time Jeffreys had not apparently takenher hint as to the arranging of his person in "respectful" raiment. Walker waited upon the librarian in his chamber with a brown-paperparcel. 

"My lady's compliments, " said he, with a grin--he was getting to measurethe newcomer by his mistress's standard--"and hopes they'll suit. "

It was a left-off suit of Mr Rimbolt's clothes, with the followingpolite note: "As Mr Jeffreys does not appear disposed to accept MrsRimbolt's advice to provide himself with clothes suitable for the posthe now occupies at Wildtree Towers, she must request him to accept theaccompanying parcel, with the wish that she may not again have occasionto refer to so unpleasant a subject. "

Jeffreys flushed scarlet as he read this elegant effusion, and, greatlyto Walker's astonishment crushed the letter up into a ball and flung itout of the window. 

"Take that away!" he shouted, pointing to the parcel. 

"The mistress sent it for--"

"Take it away, do you hear?" shouted Jeffreys, starting up with a faceso terrible that Walker turned pale, and evacuated the room with theoffending parcel as quickly as possible. 

Jeffreys' outburst of temper quickly evaporated, and indeed gave placeto a much more prolonged fit of shame. Was this like conquering theevil in his nature, to be thus thrown off his balance by a trifle?

As it happened, he had ordered a suit of clothes in Overstone some daysback, and was expecting them that very afternoon. 

Mr Rimbolt, on the day after his engagement, had as delicately aspossible offered him a quarter's salary in advance, which Jeffreys, guessing the source which inspired the offer, had flatly refused. MrRimbolt's gentlemanly urging, however, and the consciousness that hispresent clothes were disreputable, as well as another consideration, induced him to accept a month's stipend; and on the strength of this hehad visited the Overstone tailor. 

But before doing so he had discharged his mind of a still more importantduty. The sense of the debt still due to Bolsover had hung round hisneck night and day. It was not so much on Mr Frampton's account. Hecame gradually to hate the thought of Bolsover, and the idea of being adefaulter to the place worried him beyond measure. It seemed like aninsult to the memory of poor young Forrester to owe money to the placewhich had witnessed that terrible tragedy; and the hope of washing hishands once for all of the school and its associations was the one faintgleam of comfort he had in looking back on the events of last year. Itwas therefore with a feeling of almost fierce relief that he procured apost-office order for the balance of his debt on the very afternoon ofreceiving the money, and enclosing it with merely his name added--for hewanted no receipt, and felt that even Mr Frampton's letters would nowno longer be of service to him--he posted it with his own hands, andhoped that he was done with Bolsover for ever. After that, with verydifferent emotions, he visited the tailor. 

The clothes arrived on the same afternoon which had witnessed thesummary rejection of Mrs Rimbolt's gift. That lady, from whom Walkerhad considered it prudent to keep back some of the particulars of hisinterview with the librarian, merely reporting "that Mr Jeffreys wasmuch obliged, but did not require the things, " took to herself all thecredit of his improved appearance when that evening Mr Rimbolt broughthim in from the library to have coffee in the drawing-room. 

Jeffreys, aware that he was undergoing inspection, felt very shy andawkward, but could not quite do away with the improvement, or concealthat, despite his ugly face and ungainly figure there was something ofthe gentleman about him. 

Mrs Rimbolt by no means approved of her husband bringing his librarianinto the drawing-room. She considered it a slight to herself anddangerous to Percy and Raby to have this person added to their familycircle; and she most conscientiously made a point of lessening thatdanger on every occasion, by reminding him of his place and renderinghis temporary visits to exalted latitudes as uncomfortable as possible. Mr Rimbolt, good easy-going gentleman, shrugged his shoulders and feltpowerless to interfere, and when, after a week or two, his librariangenerally pleaded some pressing work as an excuse for not going in tocoffee, he understood it quite well and did not urge the invitation. 

Percy, however, had a very different way of comporting himself. What heliked he liked; what he did not like he most conveniently ignored. Hewas anything but a model son, as the reader has discovered. He lovedhis parents, indeed, but he sadly lacked that great ornament of youth--adutiful spirit. He was spoiled, and got his own way in everything. Heruled Wildtree Towers, in fact. If his mother desired him to do what hedid not like, he was for the time being deaf, and did not hear her. Ifhe himself was overtaken in a fault, he changed the subject and talkedcheerily about something else. If one of his great "dodges" came to aridiculous end, he promptly screened it from observation by a new one. 

From the day of the kidnapping adventure he was a sworn ally ofJeffreys. It mattered nothing to him who else snubbed the newlibrarian, or who else made his life uncomfortable. Percy liked him andthought much of him. He established a claim on his afternoons, in spiteof Mrs Rimbolt's protests and Mr Rimbolt's arrangements. EvenJeffreys' refusal to quit work at his bidding counted for nothing. Herepresented to his mother that Jeffreys was necessary to his safetyabroad, and to his father that Jeffreys would be knocked up if he didnot take regular daily exercise. He skilfully hinted that Jeffreys readAeschylus with him sometimes; and once, as a crowning argument, produceda complete "dodge, " perfected and mechanically clever, "which, " heasserted, "Jeff made me stick to till I'd done. "

Mr Rimbolt did not conceal the satisfaction with which he noticed thegood influence on the boy of his new friend, and readily fell in withthe arrangement that Jeffreys' afternoons should be placed at his own(which meant Percy's) disposal. As for Mrs Rimbolt, she groaned tothink of her boy consorting with quondam tramps, yet consoled herselfwith the knowledge that Percy had now some one who would look after himand keep him out of danger, even with a vulgar right arm. 

Jeffreys accepted this new responsibility cheerfully, and even eagerly. It sometimes came over him with a shock, what would these people say ifthey knew about young Forrester? Yet was not this care of a boy givento him now as a means, if not of winning back his good name, at least ofatoning in some measure by the good he would try to do him, and thepatience with which he would bear with his exacting ways for what waspast? It was in that spirit he accepted the trust, and felt happy init. 

As the summer passed on, Wildtree, the moors around which were famousfor their game, became full of visitors. The invasion did not disturbJeffreys, for he felt that he would be able to retire into private lifeand avoid it. The company numbered a few boys of Percy's age, so thateven that young gentleman would not be likely to require his servicesfor a while. He therefore threw himself wholly into his work, and withthe exception of an hour each afternoon, when he took a turn on thehill-side, showed himself to no one. 

On one of these occasions, as he was strolling through the park towardsthe moor, he encountered Miss Atherton, very much laden with a camp-stool, a basket, a parasol, and a waterproof. Shy as he was, Jeffreyscould hardly pass her without offering to relieve her of part of herburden. "May I carry some of those things?" said he. 

He had scarcely exchanged words with Raby since the day of his firstarrival; and though he secretly numbered her among his friends, he hadan uncomfortable suspicion that she looked down on him, and made aneffort to be kind to him. 

"Thanks, very much, " said she, really glad to get rid of some of herburdens; "if you wouldn't mind taking the chair. But I'm afraid you aregoing the other way. "

"No, " said Jeffreys, taking the chair, "I was going nowhere inparticular. May I not take the waterproof and basket too?"

"The basket is far too precious, " said Raby, smiling; "it has grapes init. But if you will take this horrid waterproof--"

"There is not much use for waterproofs this beautiful weather, " saidJeffreys, beginning to walk beside her. Then, suddenly recollectinghimself, with a vision of Mrs Rimbolt before his mind, he fell back, and said awkwardly, --

"Perhaps I had better--I must not detain you, Miss Atherton. "

She saw through him at once, and laughed. 

"You propose to follow me with those things as if I was an Easternprincess! Perhaps I had better carry them myself if you are afraid ofme. "

"I'm not afraid of you, " said Jeffreys. 

"But you are afraid of auntie. So am I--I hope she'll meet us. Whatwere you saying about the weather, Mr Jeffreys?"

Jeffreys glanced in alarm at his audacious companion. He had nothingfor it after this challenge but to walk with her and brave theconsequences. There was something in her half-mutinous, half-confidingmanner which rather interested him, and made the risk he was now runningrather exhilarating. 

"Percy seems to have forsaken you, " said she, after a pause, "since hisfriends came. I suppose he is sure to be blowing his brains out orsomething of the sort on the moors. "

"Percy is a fine fellow, and certainly has some brains to blow, "observed Jeffreys solemnly. 

Raby laughed. "He's quite a reformed character since you came, " saidshe; "I'm jealous of you!"

"Why?"

"Oh, he cuts me, now he has you! He used about once a week to offer toshow me what he was doing. Now he only offers once a month, and thenalways thinks better of it. "

"The thing is to get him to work at one thing at a time, " said Jeffreys, to whom Percy was always an interesting study. "As soon as he haslearned that art he will do great things. "

"I think Percy would make a fine soldier, " said Raby, with an enthusiasmwhich quite captivated her companion, "he's so brave and honest anddetermined. Isn't he?"

"Yes, and clever too. "

"Of course; but my father always says a man needn't be clever to be agood soldier. He says the clever soldiers are the least valuable. "

"Was your father a soldier?"

"Was? He is. He's in Afghanistan now. "

"In the middle of all the fighting?"

"Yes, " said Raby, with a shade across her bright face. "It's terrible, isn't it? I half dread every time I see a letter or a newspaper. MrJeffreys!" added the girl, stopping short in her walk, "my father is thebest and bravest man that ever lived. "

"I know he is, " said Jeffreys, beginning to wonder whether some of thefather's good qualities were not hereditary. 

Raby looked up curiously and then laughed. 

"You judge of him by seeing how heroic I am braving my aunt's wrath! Ohdear, I do hope she meets us. It would be such a waste of courage ifshe doesn't. "

"I have benefited by your courage, " said Jeffreys, quite staggered athis own gallantry. 

"I expect you're awfully dull in that old library, " said the girl; "youshould hear how uncle praises you behind your back! Poor auntie--"

At that moment they turned a corner of the shrubbery leading up to thehouse, and found themselves suddenly face to face with Mrs Rimbolt witha gentleman and two or three of her lady guests. Jeffreys flushed up asguiltily as if he had been detected in a highway robbery, and absolutelyforgot to salute. Even Raby, who was not at all sure that her aunt hadnot overheard their last words, was taken aback and looked confused. Mrs Rimbolt bridled up like a cat going into action. She took in thesituation at a glance, and drew her own inferences. 

"Raby, my dear, " said she, "come with us. Colonel Brotherton wishes tosee Rodnet Force, and we are going there. Oh, Mr Jeffreys, " added she, turning frigidly upon the already laden librarian, "when you havecarried Miss Atherton's things into the house, be good enough to go toKennedy and tell him to meet us at the Upper Fall. And you will findsome letters on the hall table to be posted. By-the-way, ColonelBrotherton, if you have that telegram you want to send off, thelibrarian will go with it. It is a pity you should have the walk. "

To these miscellaneous orders Jeffreys bowed solemnly, and did not failto exhibit his clumsiness by dropping Raby's waterproof in a belatedeffort to raise his hat. Mrs Rimbolt would hardly have been appeasedhad he not done so; and it was probably in a final endeavour to show himoff as he departed that she added, --

"Raby, give Mr Jeffreys that basket to take in; you cannot carry thatup to the Falls. "

"Oh, aunt, I've told Mr Jeffreys I can't trust him with it. It hasgrapes in it. Didn't I, Mr Jeffreys?" she said, appealing gaily to himwith a smile which seemed to make a man of him once more. 

"I will undertake not to eat them, " said he, with a twitch of his mouth, receiving the precious basket. 

After that he sacrificed even his afternoon constitutionals, and took tothe life of a hermit until Wildtree Towers should be rid of itsvisitors. But even so he could not be quite safe. Percy occasionallyhunted him out and demanded his company with himself and a few choicespirits on some hare-brained expedition. Jeffreys did not object toPercy or the hare-brained expedition; but the "choice spirits" sometimesdiscomposed him. They called him "Jeffy, " and treated him like somefavoured domestic animal. They recognised him as a sort of custodian ofPercy, and on that account showed off before him, and demonstrated toPercy that he was no custodian of theirs. They freely discussed hisugliness and poverty within earshot. They patronised him without stint, and made a display of their own affluence in his presence. And whenonce or twice he put down his foot and interdicted some illegalproceeding, they blustered rudely, and advised Percy to get the caddismissed. 

It was like some of the old Bolsover days back again, only with thedifference that now he steeled himself to endure all patiently for youngForrester's sake. It disappointed him to see Percy, led away by hiscompany, sometimes lift his heel against him; yet it suited his humourto think it was only right, and a part of his penance, it should be so. Percy's revolt, to do that youth justice, was short-lived and speedilyrepented of. As soon as his friends were gone he returned to Jeffreyswith all his old allegiance, and showed his remorse by forgetting allabout his recent conduct. 

Perhaps the most trying incident in all that trying time to Jeffreys waswhat occurred on the last day of the Brothertons' visit. The coloneland his family had been so busy seeing the natural beauties of Wildtree, that, till their visit was drawing to an end, they found they hadscarcely done justice to the beautiful house itself, and what itcontained. Consequently the last evening was spent in a visit _enmasse_ to the library where Jeffreys was duly summoned to assist MrRimbolt in exhibiting the treasures it contained. 

As usual when the lady of the house was of the party, the librarian wentthrough his work awkwardly. He answered her questions in a confusedmanner, and contrived to knock over one or two books in his endeavour toreach down others. He was conscious that some of the company wereincluding him among the curiosities of the place, and that Mr Rimbolthimself was disappointed with the result of the exhibition. Hestruggled hard to pull himself together, and in a measure succeededbefore the visit was over, thanks chiefly to Mrs Rimbolt's temporaryabsence from the library. The lady returned to announce that coffee wasready in the drawing-room, and Jeffreys, with a sigh of relief, witnessed a general movement towards the door. 

He was standing rather dismally near the table, counting the secondstill he should be left alone, when Mrs Brotherton advanced to him withoutstretched hand. Imagining she was about to wish him good-evening ina more friendly manner than he had expected, he advanced his own hand, when, to his horror and dismay, he felt a half-crown dropped into it, with the half-whispered remark, "We are much obliged to you. "

He was too staggered to do anything but drop his jaw and stare at thecoin until the last of the party had filed from the room, not evenobserving the look of droll sympathy which Raby, the last to depart, darted at him. 

Left to himself, one of his now rare fits of temper broke over him. Hestormed out of the place and up into his room, where, after flinging thecoin into the grate, he paced up and down the floor like an infuriatedanimal. Then by a sudden impulse he picked the coin up, and opening atoolbox which he kept in the room, he took from it a hammer and bradawl. Two or three vicious blows sufficed to make a hole in the centre of theQueen's countenance. Then with a brass-headed nail he pinned themiscreant piece of silver to the wall above the mantelpiece, and satlooking at it till the storm was over. 

It was a week or two before he quite recovered from this shock andsettled down again to the ordinary routine of his life at WildtreeTowers. As the afternoons became shorter, and out-of-door occupationsin consequence became limited, he found Percy unexpectedly amenable to aquiet course of study, which greatly improved the tone of that versatileyoung gentleman's mind. Percy still resolutely set his face against areturn to school, and offered no encouragement to his perplexed parentsin their various schemes for the advancement of his education. Consequently they were fain to be thankful, until some light dawned onthe question, that his education was not being wholly neglected, and MrRimbolt in particular recognised that under Jeffreys' influence andtuition the boy was improving in more ways than one. 

The autumn passed uneventfully. Mr Rimbolt had occasion once or twiceto go up to London, and on these occasions Jeffreys was reminded that hewas not on a bed of roses at Wildtree. But that half-crown over themantelpiece helped him wonderfully. Raby continued to regard him from adistance with a friendly eye, and now and then alarmed him bychallenging him to some daring act of mutiny which was sure to end inconfusion, but which, for all that, always seemed to him to have somecompensation in the fellow-feeling it established between the poorlibrarian and the dependent and kept-under niece. 

News arrived now and then from India, bringing relief as to what waspast, but by no means allaying anxiety as to what might be in store forthe soldier there. A week before Christmas, Raby told Jeffreys, withmingled pride and trepidation, that her father had written to say he hadbeen made major, and expected to be sent in charge of a small advanceforce towards Kandahar, to clear the way for a general advance. By thesame post another letter came for Mrs Rimbolt, the contents of which, as the Fates would have it, also came to Jeffreys' ears. 

"My dear, " said the lady, entering the library that evening, letter inhand, and addressing her husband, who was just then engaged with hislibrarian in inspecting some new purchases, "here is a letter from myold friend Louisa Scarfe. She proposes to come to us for Christmas, andbring with her her son, who is now at Oxford. I suppose I can write andsay Yes?"

"Certainly, " said Mr Rimbolt; "I shall be delighted. "

A chill went to Jeffreys' heart as he overheard this hurriedconsultation. If this should be the Scarfe he knew, he was not yet rid, he felt, of Bolsover or of his bad name. 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN. 

FALLEN IN A HOLE. 

Mrs Scarfe and her son arrived a day or two later at Wildtree Towers. Jeffreys, who from the recesses of a bay window was an unseen witness ofthe arrival, saw at a glance that his forebodings were too true. Scarfehad changed somewhat since we saw him at Bolsover fifteen months ago. He was older and better-looking and wore a trim black moustache. Hisdress was in the best Oxford style; and in his easy, confident carriagethere remained no trace of the overgrown schoolboy. His mother, adelicate-looking widow lady, returned Mrs Rimbolt's greeting with theeagerness of an old friend, and introduced her son with evident pride. 

It was hopeless for Jeffreys to think of avoiding a recognition forlong. Still, he anxiously put off the evil hour as long as possible. The first afternoon and evening this was not difficult, for thetravellers had made a long journey and retired early. The following dayhe went through his work on tenterhooks. Every time the library dooropened he felt his heart sink within him, and every footstep he heardcrossing the hall seemed to be the one he dreaded. 

In the evening he attempted to escape the inevitable by taking refuge inhis room after dinner. But as it happened a messenger arrived fromOverstone with a parcel of books, which made it necessary for him toreturn to the library. And while there Mr Rimbolt as usual came in. 

As soon as the business matter had been arranged Mr Rimbolt said, "MissAtherton has been asking to see Blake's _Songs of Innocence_, Jeffreys;will you kindly take the book to her in the drawing-room? I have one ofmy tenants to see here, but I shall be in shortly. "

There was no possible escape from this dilemma. With a groan he got thebook down from its place and went. 

Scarfe, as he entered the drawing-room, was engaged in turning over abook of prints with Raby, and did not notice him. Nor did Mrs Rimbolt, siting on the sofa beside her friend, heed his entrance till Percysaid, --

"Hullo, Jeff!"

Jeffreys became aware that the eyes of the whole party were suddenlycentred on him--Mrs Rimbolt's from under lifted eyebrows, Mrs Scarfe'sthrough raised eye-glasses, Raby's with a veiled welcome, Scarfe's inblank astonishment. He advanced awkwardly into the room. 

"Close the door, please, Mr Jeffreys, " said Mrs Rimbolt, in toneswhich left no manner of doubt in her visitors' minds as to the status ofthe librarian in the house. 

Jeffreys obeyed, and advanced once more towards Raby. 

"Your uncle, " stammered he, conscious of nothing but Scarfe's stare, "asked me to bring you this book. " Then, turning with a desperateeffort to his old schoolfellow, he said, "How are you, Scarfe?"

He scorned himself for the half-appealing tone in which the salutationwas made. What was Scarfe to him? Nothing, save that Scarfe and he hadboth looked down that October afternoon on the motionless form of onesmall boy in the Bolsover meadow. And was that nothing?

"How do you do, Jeffreys?" said Scarfe, stiffly extending his hand, andimmediately afterwards returning to his examination of the prints withRaby. 

"Do you know Jeff?" asked Percy, who had witnessed the recognition. 

"Yes. Jeffreys and I have met, " said Scarfe, not looking up from hisbook. 

"Who is that young man?" said Mrs Scarfe, in an audible whisper to herhostess. 

"The librarian here. Mr Jeffreys, " added Mrs Rimbolt, as Jeffreysstood irresolute, not knowing whether to remain in the room or go, "begood enough to tell Walker he can bring the coffee, and tell Mr Rimboltwe are expecting him. "

"Mr Rimbolt asked me to say you are not to wait coffee for him. He maybe detained with a tenant in the library. "

"Jeff, I say, you should have been with us this afternoon. We had suchlarks. We got one or two pot shots, but didn't hit anything except thedog. So it's a good job we didn't borrow Julius. Kennedy says we're infor a ripping frost, so save yourself up, old man. "

"Percy, you talk like a stable-boy. Do remember you are in the drawing-room; and don't detain Mr Jeffreys from his work. "

Under cover of this maternal exhortation Jeffreys withdrew. 

"Rum your knowing Jeff, Scarfe!" said Percy, after he had gone; "was heat Oxford?"

"No, " said Scarfe. "It was at school. Surely that must be one ofHogarth's engravings, Miss Atherton, it is exactly his style. "

"It wasn't much of a school, was it?" persisted Percy. "Jeff told me hedidn't care about it. "

"I don't think he did, " replied Scarfe with a faint smile. 

"I suppose you are very fond of Oxford, are you not?" said Mrs Rimbolt;"every one who belongs to the University seems very proud of it. "

This effectually turned the conversation away from Jeffreys, and thesubject was not recurred to that evening, except just when Scarfe wasbidding his mother good-night in her boudoir. 

"I hope you won't be dull here, " said she. "Miss Atherton seems apleasant girl, but it is a pity Percy is not older and more of acompanion. "

"Oh, I shall enjoy myself, " said Scarfe. 

"You don't seem very fond of that Mr Jeffreys. "

"No, I draw the line somewhere, mother, " said the son. 

"What do you mean? Is there anything discreditable about him? He lookscommon and stupid, to be sure. Mrs Rimbolt tells me Percy is greatlytaken up with him. "

"They appear to have curious ideas about the kind of companion theychoose for their boy, " said Scarfe. "But it's no business of ours. Good-night, mother. "

And he went, leaving Mrs Scarfe decidedly mystified. 

Jeffreys and Scarfe occasionally met during the next few days. Jeffreyswas rather relieved to find that his late schoolfellow seemed by nomeans anxious to recall an old acquaintance or to refer to Bolsover. Hecould even forgive him for falling into the usual mode of treating thelibrarian as an inferior. It mattered little enough to him, seeing whatScarfe already knew about him, what he thought of him at Wildtree. Onthe whole, the less they met and the less they talked together, the lesschance was there of rousing bitter memories. The Scarfes would hardlyremain more than a month. If for that time he could efface himself, thedanger might blow over, and he might be left at the end of the time withthe secret of his bad name still safe at Wildtree Towers. 

Kennedy's prophecy of a hard frost turned out to have been a knowingone. All through Christmas week it continued with a severity rare evenin that mountainous region; and when on New Year's Day the reportreached Wildtree that a man had skated across the upper end of Wellmereit was admitted to be a frost which, to the younger generation of theplace at least, "beat record. "

Percy was particularly enthusiastic, and terrified his mother byannouncing that he meant to skate across Wellmere, too. Raby, thoughless ambitious, was equally keen for the ice; and Scarfe, indolentlyinclined as he was, was constrained to declare himself also anxious toput on his skates. 

A day was lost owing to the fact that Percy's skates, which had lainidle for two years, were now too small for him and useless. 

Mrs Rimbolt devoutly hoped the ironmonger in Overstone would have noneto fit him, and used the interval in intriguing right and left to stopthe projected expedition. 

She represented to her husband that the head gardener was of opinionthat the frost had reached its height two days ago. She discovered thatScarfe had a cold, to which exposure might be disastrous. Raby sheperemptorily forbade to dream of the ice; and as for Percy, she conjuredhim by the love he bore her to skate on nothing deeper than the RodnetMarsh, whereat that young gentleman gibed. The Overstone ironmonger hadskates which fitted the boy to a nicety, and by way of business sent up"on inspection" a pair which Mr Rimbolt might find useful for himself. 

"You surely will not allow Percy to go?" said the lady to her husband, on the morning after the arrival of the skates. 

"Why not? He's a good skater, and we don't often have a frost. "

"But on Wellmere! Think of the danger!"

"I often skated across Wellmere when I was a boy. I would not object todo it again if I had the time to spare. I declare the sight of theskates tempted me. "

"I don't believe Mr Scarfe can swim. What would happen if there werean accident?"

"I think you overrate the danger, " said her husband; "however, if itpleases you, I will get Jeffreys to go with them. He can swim, and Idare say he can skate, too. "

Mrs Rimbolt shied a little at the suggestion, but yielded to it as acompromise, being better than nothing. 

Jeffreys would fain have evaded this unexpected service. 

"I have no skates, " he said, when Mr Rimbolt proposed it. 

"Yes; the ironmonger sent up a pair for me, and as I can't use them youare welcome to them. "

"Did you not want the books from Sotheby's collated before to-morrow?"

"No, Saturday will do. Honestly, Jeffreys, I would be more comfortable, so would Mrs Rimbolt, if you went. We have experience of the care youtake of Percy. So, you see, I ask a favour. "

It was useless to hold out. 

"I will go, " said he; and it was settled. 

An hour later Scarfe, Percy, Jeffreys, and Julius stood at the hall doorready to start. 

"Where's Raby, I say?" cried Percy; "she said she'd come. "

"I do not wish Raby to go. "

"Oh, look here, mother, as if we couldn't look after her; eh, Scarfe?"

"It will be no pleasure without Miss Atherton, " said Scarfe. 

"Can't she come, father?" said Percy, adroitly appealing to Caesar. 

"I really think it would be a pity she should miss the fun. "

"Huzzah! Raby, where are you? Look sharp! father says you can come, and we're waiting!" cried Percy. 

Raby, who had been watching the party rather wistfully, did not keepthem long waiting. 

Wellmere was a large lake some five miles long and a mile across. Intimes of frost it not unfrequently became partially frozen, but owing tothe current of the river which passed through it, it seldom froze socompletely as to allow of being traversed on skates. This, however, wasan extraordinary frost, and the feat of the adventurer on New Year's Dayhad been several times repeated already. 

The Wildtree party found the ice in excellent order, and theexhilarating sensation of skimming over the glassy surface banished forthe time all the unpleasant impressions of the walk. It was severalyears since Jeffreys had worn skates, but he found that five minutes wassufficient to render him at home on the ice. He eschewed figures, anddevoted himself entirely to straightforward skating, which, as ithappened, was all that Percy could accomplish--all, indeed, that heaspired too. 

It therefore happened naturally that Scarfe and Raby, who cultivated theeccentricities of skating, were left to their own devices, whileJeffreys, accompanied of course by Julius, kept pace with his young herofor the distant shore. It was a magnificent stretch. The wind wasdead, the ice was perfect, and their skates were true and sharp. 

"Isn't this grand?" cried Percy, all aglow, as they scudded along, faroutstripping the perplexed Julius. "Better than smoking cigarettes, eh, old Jeff?"

Jeffreys accepted this characteristic tender of reconciliation with athankful smile. 

"I was never on such ice!" said he. 

"Looks as if it couldn't thaw, doesn't it?" said Percy. 

"It's better here in the middle than nearer the shore. I hope those twowon't get too near the river, it looks more shaky there. "

"Trust Scarfe! He knows what's what! I say, aren't he and Rabyspoons?"

"Mind that log of wood. It must be pretty shallow here, " said Jeffreys, his face glowing with something more than the exercise. 

They made a most successful crossing. Returning, a slight breeze behindthem favoured their progress, and poor Julius had a sterner chase thanever. 

As they neared their starting-point Jeffreys looked about ratheranxiously for Scarfe and Raby, who, tiring of their fancy skating, hadstarted on a little excursion of their own out into the lake. 

"I wish they wouldn't go that way, " said he, as he watched them skimmingalong hand-in-hand; "it may be all right, but the current is sure tomake the ice weaker than out here. "

"Oh, they're all serene, " said Percy. "I'll yell to them when we getnear enough. "

Presently, as they themselves neared the shore, they noticed Scarfe turnand make for the land, evidently for something that had been forgotten, or else to make good some defect in his skates. Raby, while waiting, amused herself with cutting some graceful figures and curvetting to andfro, but always, as Jeffreys noted with concern, edging nearer to theriver. 

Percy shouted and waved to her to come the other way. She answered thecall gaily and started towards them. Almost as she started there was acrack, like the report of a gun, followed by a cry from the girl. 

Jeffreys, with an exclamation of horror and a call to Julius, dashed inan instant towards her. The light girlish figure, however, glidedsafely over the place of danger. Jeffreys had just time to swerve andlet her pass, and next moment he was struggling heavily twenty yardsbeyond in ten feet of icy water. 

It all happened in a moment. Percy's shout, the crack, the girl's cry, and Julius's wild howl, all seemed part of the same noise. 

Percy, the first of the spectators to recover his self-possession, shouted to Scarfe, and started for the whole. 

"I'm all right, don't come nearer, " called Jeffreys, as he approached;"there's a ladder there, where Scarfe is. Bring it. "

Percy darted off at a tangent, leaving Jeffreys, cool in body and mind, to await his return. To an ordinarily excitable person, the positionwas a critical one. The water was numbing; the ice at the edge of thehole was rotten, and broke away with every effort he made to climb on toit; even Julius, floundering beside him, bewildered, and at times a deadweight on his arms and neck, was embarrassing. Jeffreys, however, didnot exhaust himself by wild struggles. He laid his stick across thecorner of the hole where the ice seemed firmest, and with his arms uponit propped himself with tolerable security. He ordered the dog out ofthe water and made him lie still at a little distance on the ice. Heeven contrived to kick off one boot, skate and all, into the water, butwas too numbed to rid himself of the other. 

It seemed an eternity while Scarfe and Percy approached with the ladder, with Raby, terrified and pale, hovering behind. 

"Don't come nearer, " he shouted, when at last they got within reach. "Slide it along. "

They pushed it, and it slipped to within a yard of him. 

Julius, who appeared to have mastered the situation, jumped forward, andfixing his teeth in the top rung, dragged it the remaining distance. 

The remainder was easy. Scarfe crawled along the ladder cautiously tillwithin reach of the almost exhausted Jeffreys, and caught him under theshoulder, dragging him partially up. 

"I can hold now, " said Jeffreys, "if you and Percy will drag the ladder. Julius, hold me, and drag too. "

This combined effort succeeded. A minute later, Jeffreys, numbed withcold but otherwise unhurt, was being escorted on his one skate betweenPercy and Scarfe for the shore, where Raby awaited him with a look thatrevived him as nothing else could. 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN. 

A BRUSH NEAR KANDAHAR. 

While Raby that night dreamed troublously of the events of the day, asoldier was sitting in his tent near Kandahar, some four thousand ormore miles away, reading a letter. He was an officer; his sword laybeside him on the table, his boots were off, and a flannel coat took theplace of the regimental jacket which lay beside his saddle on the floor. If these signs were not sufficient to prove that for the time being hewas off duty, his attitude as he lolled back in his camp-chair, with hisfeet on the table considerably above the level of his chin, reading hisletter by the uncertain light of a lamp, would have left little doubt onthe subject. So engrossed indeed was he that he was unaware of thepresence of his native servant in the tent preparing supper, and readaloud to himself. The envelope of the letter, which lay on the table, was a foreign one with an English stamp, and addressed in a femininehand. 

The soldier, having completed his first perusal, turned back to thebeginning, reading partly to himself, partly aloud. 

"`October 4'--three months ago or more!--before she heard of thisbusiness. `You poor dull darling'--nice names to call one's father, true enough, though, at the time, it was brutally dull at Simla--`I canfancy how you hate loafing about all day with nothing to do but try andkeep cool and find a place to sleep in where the flies can't worry you. 'Hum! Picture of a soldier's life! A little different from the usualimpression, but not very wide of the mark after all. "

Then he read to himself for a bit something which made his weather-beaten face soften, and brought a sparkle to his eyes. 

"Bless the child!" he murmured; "she doesn't forget her old father!`How glad I shall be if you get sent to the front, for I know how youhate doing nothing. If you are, I shall be foolish, of course, andimagine all sorts of horrors whenever I see a letter. ' That's the waygirls back their fathers up! `Oh, why couldn't I be a soldier too, andride behind you into action, instead of dawdling here doing no good toanybody, and living like a fine young lady instead of a simple soldier'sdaughter?' Whew! what a fine little colour-sergeant she'd make!Wouldn't Mrs Grundy sit up if she read that?

"Hum!" he went on, after reading a little further. "`I oughtn't togrumble. Uncle Rimbolt is the kindest of protectors, and lets me havefar too many nice things. Aunt has a far better idea of what acaptain's daughter should be. She doesn't spoil me. She's like a sortof animated extinguisher, and whenever I flicker up a bit she's down onme. I enjoy it, and I think she is far better pleased that I give hersomething to do than if I was awfully meek. It all helps to pass thetime till my dear old captain comes home. ' Heigho! that means she'smiserable, and I'm not to guess it! I had my doubts of CharlotteRimbolt when I let her go to Wildtree. Poor little Raby! she's no matchfor an animated extinguisher!

"`Percy, ' continued the letter, `is as lively and full of "dodges" asever. He soon got over his kidnapping adventure. Indeed, the onlydifference it has made is that we have now one, or rather two, newinmates at Wildtree, for Uncle Rimbolt has employed Percy's rescuer ashis librarian, and the dog has, of course, taken up his abode here too. He is a perfect darling! so handsome and clever! He took to me thefirst moment I saw him, and he would do anything for me. ' Really!" saidthe father; "that's coming it rather strong, isn't it, with the newlibrar-- Oh, perhaps she means the dog! Ha, ha! `Aunt Rimbolt getssome fine extinguisher practice with this newcomer, against whom she hasa most unaccountable prejudice. He is very shy and gentlemanly, but Iam sure Percy never had a better friend. He has become ever so muchsteadier. ' Did you ever know such letter-writers as these girls are?Which newcomer does she mean, the fellow who's a perfect darling, or thefellow who's shy and gentlemanly? and which, in the name of wonder, isthe man and which the dog? Upon my word, something awful might be goingon, and I should be none the wiser! `Julius nearly always escorts me inmy walks. He is _such_ a dear friendly fellow, and always carries mybag or parasol. Aunt, of course, doesn't approve of our being sodevoted to one another, for she looks upon Julius as an interloper; butit doesn't matter much to us. Percy often comes with us, but Juliusrather resents a third person. He thinks--so do I, much as I likePercy--that two are company and three are none. '"

Major Atherton--for the soldier was no other--leaned back in his chair, and fanned himself with the letter. 

"How _on earth_ am I to know who or what she is talking about? If it'snot the dog, upon my honour, Aunt Rimbolt-- It can't be the dog, though. She calls him Julius; and why should she take the boy along with themif it wasn't the librarian puppy she walked with? Rimbolt ought to lookafter things better than that!

"`Uncle Rimbolt thinks very highly of his new _protege_. He is soquiet; it is quite painful sometimes talking to him. I'm sure he hashad a lot of trouble; he has a sort of hunted look sometimes which isquite pathetic. Aunt hardly ever lets him come into the drawing-room, and when she does it is generally in order to snub him. I fancy hefeels his anomalous position in this house very much. '"

"My patience! That's a mild way of putting it!" exclaimed the major;"the anomalous position of this hunted-looking, shy librarian whocarries her parasol and escorts her about, and suggests to Percy thattwo are company and three are none! All I can say is the sooner we getinto Kandahar and are paid off home the better!"

"What's that you're saying about Kandahar, old man?" said a voice at thedoor of the tent, and there entered a handsome jaunty-looking officer ofabout Atherton's age. 

"That you, Forrester? Come in. I've just had a letter from my littlegirl. "

A shade crossed Captain Forrester's cheery face. 

"Your luck, my dear boy. I haven't had a line. "

"Perhaps there's a letter for you at head-quarters. "

"I doubt it. But don't talk about it. How's your girl flourishing?"

"Upon my honour, she seems to be a little too flourishing, " said themajor, taking up his letter with a look of puzzled concern. "You may bea better English scholar than I am, Forrester, and be able to make heador tail of this. As far as I can make it out, Raby is flourishing verydecidedly. Here, read this second sheet. "

Captain Forrester took the letter, and read the part indicatedcarefully. 

The major watched him anxiously till he had done. 

"Well?" he asked, as his comrade handed it back. 

"It seems to be a case, " said the latter. 

"That's what I thought. I don't like that carrying her parasol, andtelling the boy that two are company--"

Captain Forrester burst into a loud laugh. 

"Why, you glorious old donkey, that's the dog!"

"Nonsense; she'd never say a dog was shy and gentlemanly, and looked asif he'd had a lot of trouble. "

"No, " said the captain holding his sides, "that's the librarian. "

"Who--the fellow Julius she talks about?" asked the major, beginning tofeel very warm. 

"The fellow Julius! Why, Julius is the dog!"

The major rose from his seat in agitation, and stood before his friend. 

"Forrester, " said he solemnly, "as soon as I see the joke I'll laugh. Meanwhile tell me this. Who in the name of mystery is it who feels hisanomalous position at Wildtree, the man or the dog?"

Captain Forrester held gallantly on to his chair to prevent falling off;and the native without, hearing his shouts, looked in at the door to seewhat the sahib wanted. 

"My dear fellow, " said he at last, "I begin to think I know more thanyou. Can't you see this daughter of yours is decidedly interested inthis young _protege_ of her uncle?"

"Most decidedly I see that. "

"And that in order to throw dust in your fatherly old eyes, she makes agreat gush about the dog Julius, and says hardly a word about themaster, whose name does not appear. "

Major Atherton took up the letter again and glanced through it, and alight began to break on his puzzled countenance. 

"Then, " said he, "the fellow who's handsome and clever and a perfectdarling is--"

"Is the bow-wow. And the fellow who's hunted-looking and not allowed inthe drawing-room is his master. "

Major Atherton resumed his chair, and once more planted his feet on thetable. 

"That is a way of putting it, certainly. If so, it's a relief. "

"My dear boy, keep your eye on that librarian, or he may change placeswith his dog in double-quick time. "

The major laughed, and a pause ensued. Then Forrester said--

"Two or three days more, and we ought to be in Kandahar. "

"We are to have a stiff brush or two before we get there, " said themajor; "any hour now may bring us to close quarters. "

There was another pause. Captain Forrester fidgeted about uneasily, andpresently said--

"It's possible, old man, only one of us may get through. If I am theone who is left behind, will you promise me something?"

"You know I will. "

"That boy of mine, Atherton, is somewhere, I'm as sure of it as that I'msitting here. He's vanished. My letters to Grangerham cannot all havemiscarried, and they certainly have none of them been answered. Mymother-in-law, as I told you, died in the south of England. The boy mayhave been with her, or left behind in Grangerham, or he may be anywhere. I told you of the letter I had from the school?"

"Yes; he had had an accident and gone home damaged--crippled, in fact. "

"Yes, " said Captain Forrester, with a groan, "crippled--and perhaps leftwithout a friend. "

"You want me to promise to find him if you are not there to do it, andbe a father to him. You needn't ask it, old man, for I promise. "

"I've nothing to leave him, " said Captain Forrester, "except my swordand this watch--"

"And the good name of a gallant soldier. I will, if it is left to me todo it, take the boy all three. "

"Thanks, Atherton. You know that I would do the same by you, oldfellow. "

"You may have the chance. That girl of mine, you know, " added themajor, with a tremble in his voice, "would have what little I havesaved, which is not much. She's a good girl, but she would need aprotector if I was not there. "

"She shall have it, " said his friend. 

"I'm not sure that she's happy at Wildtree, " continued the father, witha smile, "despite the dog and his master. Rimbolt's a bookworm, anddoesn't see what goes on under his nose, and her aunt, as she says, isan animated extinguisher. It always puzzled me how Rimbolt came tomarry Charlotte Halgrove. "

"Halgrove? Was she the sister of your old college friend?"

"Yes. Rimbolt, Halgrove, and I were inseparable when we were at Oxford. Did I ever tell you of our walking tour in the Lakes? We ruled a bee-line across the map with a ruler and walked along it, neck or nothing. Of course you know about it. We've sobered down since then. Rimboltmarried Halgrove's sister, and I married Rimbolt's. I had no sister, soHalgrove remained a bachelor. "

"What became of him?"

"I fancy he made a mess of it, poor fellow. He went in for finance, andit was too much for him. Not that he lost his money; but he became alittle too smart. He dropped a hundred or two of mine, and a good dealmore of Rimbolt's--but he could spare it. The last I heard of him wasabout twelve years ago. He had a partner called Jeffreys; a stupidhonest sort of fellow who believed in him. I had a newspaper sent mewith an account of an inquest on poor Jeffreys, who had gone out of hismind after some heavy losses. There was no special reason to connectHalgrove with the losses, except that Jeffreys would never have dreamedof speculating if he hadn't been led on. And it's only fair to Halgroveto say that after the event he offered to take charge of Jeffreys' boy, at that time eight years old. That shows there was some good in him. "

"Unless, " suggested Captain Forrester, "there was some money along withthe boy. "

"Well, I dare say if he's alive still, Rimbolt will know something ofhim; so I may come across him yet, " said the major; and there theconversation ended. 

Major Atherton's prophecy of a brush with the enemy was not long inbeing fulfilled. 

Early next day the expeditionary force was ordered forward, the cavalryregiment in which the two friends were officers being sent ahead toreconnoitre and clear the passes. 

The march lay for some distance along a rocky valley, almost desolate ofhabitations, and at parts so cumbered with rocks and stones as to bescarcely passable by the horses, still less by the artillery, whichstruggled forward in front of the main body. The rocks on the rightbank towered to a vast height, breaking here and there into a gorgewhich admitted some mountain stream down into the river below, and lessfrequently falling back to make way for a wild saddle-back pass into theplains above. 

Along such a course every step was perilous, for the enemy had alreadybeen reported as hovering at the back of these ugly rocks, and mightshow their teeth at any moment. 

For an hour or two, however, the march continued uninterrupted. The fewscattered Afghans who had appeared for a moment on the heights above hadfallen back after exchanging shots, with no attempt at seriousresistance. The main body had been halted in the valley, awaiting thereturn of the scouts. The horses had been unharnessed from the guns, and the officers were snatching a hurried meal, when Captain Forresterat the head of a few troopers scampered into the lines. The newsinstantly spread that the enemy had been seen ahead, and was even thenbeing chased by the cavalry up one of the defiles to the right. 

Instantly, and without even waiting for the word of command, every manwas in his place ready to go on. The guns, with Captain Forrester'stroop as escort, dashed forward to hold the defile; while the main body, divided into two divisions--one to follow the guns, the other to reachthe plain above by a nearer pass--started forward into action. 

The cavalry, meanwhile, with Major Atherton at their head, were alreadyengaged in a hot scrimmage. 

Following their usual tactics, the Afghans, after exchanging shots atthe entrance of the pass, had turned tail and dashed through the defile, with the English at their heels. Then, suddenly turning as they reachedthe plain beyond, they faced round on their pursuers, not yet clear ofthe rocky gorge. In the present instance, however, when within about ahundred yards of the head of the column, they wheeled round again, andonce more bolted into the open. 

A stern chase ensued over the rough broken ground, the enemy now andthen making a show of halting, but as often giving way and tempting thecavalry farther out into the plain. 

The Afghans numbered only about two hundred horsemen, but it was quiteevident from their tactics that they had a much larger body in reserve, and Major Atherton was decidedly perplexed as to what he should do. Forif he pursued them too far, he might be cut off from his own men; if, onthe other hand, he made a dash and rode them down before they could getclear, he might cut them off from their main body, and so clip theenemy's wings. 

The enemy settled the question for him. Just as he was looking roundfor the first sign of Forrester and the guns in the pass, the plainsuddenly swarmed with Afghans. From every quarter they bore down onhim, horse and foot, and even guns, seeming almost to spring, like theteeth of Cadmus, from the earth. 

It was no time for hesitation or doubt. Retreat was out of thequestion. Equally hopeless was it to warn the troops who were comingup. There was nothing for it but to stand at bay till the main bodycame up, and then, if they were left to do it, fight their way out andjoin forces. 

The major therefore brought his men to a corner of the rocks, where ontwo sides, at any rate, attack would be difficult; and there, orderingthem to dismount and form square, stood grimly. 

A cruel half-hour followed. Man after man of that little band went downbefore the dropping fire of the enemy. Had the guns been able tocommand the position, they would have fallen by tens and scores. MajorAtherton, in the middle of the square, had his horse shot under himbefore five minutes were past. Alas! there was no lack of empty saddlesto supply the loss, for before a quarter of an hour had gone by, out ofa dozen officers scarcely half remained. 

Still they stood, waiting for the first boom of the guns at the head ofthe pass, and often tempted to break away from their posts and diefighting. For of all a soldier's duties, that of standing still underfire is the hardest. 

Captain Forrester, dashing up the defile at the head of the artillery, had been prepared to find a lively skirmish in progress between his owncomrades and the handful of Afghans who were luring them on. But when, on emerging on to the plain, he found himself and the guns more thanhalf surrounded by the enemy, and no sign anywhere of Atherton, he feltthat the "brush" was likely to be a very stiff one. 

The Afghans had set their hearts on those guns; that was evident by thewild triumphant yell with which they charged down on them. Forresterhad barely time to order a halt and swing the foremost gun into actionwhen a pell-mell scrimmage was going on in the very midst of thegunners. The first shot fired wildly did little or no execution, but itwarned Atherton that his time was come, and signalled to the troopsstill toiling up the pass what to expect when they got through. 

That fight round the guns was the most desperate of the day. TheAfghans knew that to capture them as they stood, meant the certainannihilation of the British troops as they defiled into the plain. Forrester knew it, too. 

Unlike Atherton, he had no protected sides. The enemy was all roundhim. The little troop at his command was barely able to cover one sideof the square; and the gunners, obliged to fight hand to hand where theystood, were powerless to advance a step. Every moment was golden. Already a distant bugle-note announced that Atherton's horse had brokenloose, and were somewhere within reach--probably cutting their waythrough the guns. And within a few minutes the head of the columnascending the defile would also come upon the scene. Hold the guns tillthen, and all might yet be safe. 

So decided Captain Forrester, as with a cheery smile on his handsomeface he shouted to his men to hold out, and fought like a lion besidethe foremost gun. 

The Afghans, baffled by the stubborn resistance, and aware of the dangerof delay, hurled themselves upon that devoted little bond with a furybefore which nothing could stand. Man after man dropped across his gun;but still Forrester shouted to his men and swung his sabre. It was notime for counting heads. He hardly knew whether, when he shouted, thirty, or twenty, or only ten shouted back. All he knew was the enemyhad not got the guns yet, and that was sufficient!

A bugle! Five minutes more, and they might still laugh at the foe. Thebugle-note came from Atherton's men, who at the first sound of the gunhad vaulted with a cheer to their horses and dashed towards the sound. Many a brave comrade they left behind them, and many more dropped rightand left as they cut their way forward. Atherton, at their head, peeredeagerly through the dust and smoke. All he could see was a surging massof human beings, in the midst of which it was impossible to discernanything but the flash of sabres, and at one spot a few British helmetsamong the turbans of the enemy. That was enough for Major Atherton. Towards that spot he waved on his men, and ordered his bugler to sound arousing signal. The bugler obeyed, and fell at the major's side beforethe note had well ceased! The struggle round the guns increased andblackened. One after another the British helmets went down, and thewild shouts of the Afghans rose triumphantly above them. 

At length Atherton saw a tall figure, bareheaded and black with smoke, spring upon a gun-carriage, and with the butt end of a carbine fell twoor three of the enemy who scrambled up to dislodge him. 

Atherton knew that form among a thousand, and he knew too that Forresterwas making his last stand. 

"Cheer, men, and come on!" cried he to his men, rising in his stirrupsand leading the shout. 

The head of the column, just then emerging from the gorge, heard thatshout, and answered it with a bugle flourish, as they fixed bayonets andrushed forward to charge. At the same moment, a cheer and the boom of agun on the left proclaimed that the other half of the column had at thatmoment reached the plain, and were also bearing down on the enemy'sflank. 

But Atherton saw and heeded nothing but that tall heroic figure on thecarriage. At the first sound of the troopers' shout Forrester hadturned his head, smiling, and raised his carbine aloft, as though towave answer to the cheer. So he stood for a moment. Then he reeled andfell back upon the gun he had saved. 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. 

AN OFFICIAL REPORT. 

Scarfe, on the return of the skating party to Wildtree, found himselfthe hero of the hour. Whether the risk he ran in rescuing his oldschoolfellow from his icy bath had been great or small, it had resultedin saving Jeffreys' life, and that was quite sufficient to make a heroof him. Percy, easily impressed by the daring of any one else, andquite overlooking his own share in the rescue, was loud in his praises. 

"How jolly proud you must feel!" said he. "I know I should if I'd saveda fellow's life. That's never my luck!"

"You lent a hand, " said Scarfe, with the complacency of one who canafford to be modest. 

And, to do Scarfe justice, until he heard himself credited with thelion's share of the rescue, he had been a little doubtful in his ownmind as to how much of it he might justly claim. 

"Oh, " said Percy, "a lot I did! You might as well say Raby lent a handby lending Jeff her shawl. "

"I was the cause of it all, " said Raby. "But you forget dear oldJulius; I'm sure he lent a hand. "

"The dog was rather in the way than otherwise, " said Scarfe; "dogsalways are on the ice. "

Jeffreys, as he walked silently beside them, could afford to smile atthis last remark. But in other respects he found little cause forsmiling. He was not yet a purified being, and even the peril he hadbeen in had not cast out the fires of pride and temper that lurkedwithin him. 

It now stung him with an unspeakable misery to find that he was supposedto owe his life to one whom he so thoroughly mistrusted and dreaded asScarfe. He persuaded himself that it was all a delusion--that he couldeasily have extricated himself without anybody's aid but that of thefaithful Julius; that Scarfe had run absolutely no risk in crawling outto him on the ladder; that, in short, he owed him nothing--if, indeed, he did not owe him resentment for allowing himself to be credited with aservice which he had no right to claim. 

Ungrateful and unreasonable, you will say, and certainly not betokeninga proper spirit in one so recently in great danger. Jeffreys, as hewalked moodily along, was neither in a grateful nor reasonable mood, nordid he feel chastened in spirit; and that being so, he was too honest topretend to be what he was not. 

To any one less interested, there was something amusing in the manner inwhich Scarfe took his new and unexpected glory. At first he seemed toregard it doubtfully, and combated it by one or two modestprotestations. Then, becoming more used to the idea, it pleased him totalk a little about the adventure, and encourage the others to recallthe scene. After that it seemed natural to him to be a little languidand done-up by his exertions, and, as a hero, to establish a claim onRaby's admiration. And finally, being quite convinced he was a hero ofthe first water, he regarded Jeffreys with condescension, and felt alittle surprise that he should remain both silent and apparentlydisdainful. 

As Raby was beforehand with her in blaming herself, the wind was takenout of Mrs Rimbolt's sails in that quarter, even had she been disposedto let out in that direction. But it was so much more convenient andnatural to blame Jeffreys, that the good lady was never in a moment'sdoubt upon the subject. 

"How excessively careless of him!" said she; "the very one of the party, too, whom we expected to keep out of danger. It is a mercy every one ofyou was not drowned. "

"It's a mercy he wasn't drowned himself, " said Percy; "so he would havebeen if it hadn't been for Scarfe. "

"It was a very noble thing of Mr Scarfe, " said Mrs Rimbolt. "I'msure, Louisa, my dear, you must be proud of your boy. "

"He jolly well deserves a Royal Humane medal, and I mean to write andget him one. "

"Don't be a young duffer, " said the hero, by no means displeased at thethreat; "they would laugh at the notion. "

"Would they? If they didn't give you one, we'd make them laugh on thewrong side of their faces. I know that, " replied the boy. 

"You know, auntie, it was I broke the ice, " said Raby. "Mr Jeffreysdid not come to that part till he heard it crack. "

"That is the ridiculously foolish part of it; he might have known thathe ought to keep off when he heard it crack. Any sensible personwould. "

"Perhaps, " said Raby, colouring, "he imagined I was in danger. "

"You are a foolish child, Raby, to talk such nonsense, and should bethankful it was not you who fell in. I hope, Mr Scarfe, " added she, "that Mr Jeffreys is grateful to you for your heroic service to him. "

"There is nothing to be grateful for, " said Scarfe, in an off-hand way;"indeed, I am afraid Jeffreys is rather offended with me for what I havedone than otherwise. "

"He could not be so base, my boy, " said his mother, "when he owes youhis life. "

"After all, " said Scarfe, with interesting resignation, "it really doesnot matter. All I know is, if it were all to happen over again I shoulddo just the same thing. "

With which noble sentiment the hero was borne off to his room, where ahot bath, warm clothing, a rousing fire, and steaming cordials somewhatconsoled him for his self-sacrificing exertions. 

After dinner Mrs Rimbolt could not resist the gratification of seeinghonour done to her guest by the object of his devotion; a project whichwas the more easy of accomplishment as Mr Rimbolt was from home on thatparticular evening. 

Jeffreys, just beginning to recover himself by the aid of a little hardwork, was petrified by Walker's announcement that "the mistress desiredthat Mr Jeffreys would step into the drawing-room. "

His good breeding was sorely taxed to find an excuse. He wasindisposed, certainly; but if he could work in the library, he could bowand scrape in the drawing-room. Mr Rimbolt, too, was away, and toinsult his lady in his absence seemed both cowardly and mean. 

"I'll come presently, " said he to Walker, and nerved himself desperatelyfor the ordeal. 

For he knew what was coming, and was resolved on the part he would play. Whatever he ought to feel, he knew exactly what he did feel; and he wasdetermined he would not be hypocrite enough to pretend anything more. 

Whereupon he walked defiantly forth and opened the drawing-room door, this time without knocking. 

"Mr Jeffreys, " said Mrs Rimbolt, feeling that the present was an"occasion, " and worked up accordingly, "I have sent for you, as I haveno doubt you will wish to express to Mrs Scarfe the feelings youentertain with regard to her son's brave conduct on the ice to-day. "

"Hear, hear, ma!" cried the irreverent Percy, with mock-heroic applause. "I beg leave to second that. "

"Percy, be silent, sir! Louisa, my dear, this is Mr Jeffreys, whoselife your son saved. "

Mrs Scarfe put up her glasses and inclined her head languidly inresponse to Jeffreys' stiff bow. 

An awkward silence ensued--so awkward that Percy began to whistle. MrsRimbolt having made a wrong start, had not the tact to mend matters. 

"Mrs Scarfe would be interested to hear, Mr Jeffreys, " said she, aftera minute or two, "your impressions of the accident. "

"The only impression I had, " said Jeffreys solemnly--and he too wasworked up, and the master of his nervousness--"was that the water wasvery cold. "

Percy greeted this with a boisterous laugh, which his mother instantlyrebuked. 

"Surely, Mr Jeffreys, " said she severely, "this is hardly an occasionfor a joke. "

"It was no joke, " replied he with dismal emphasis. 

Again Percy enjoyed the sport. 

"I should rather think it wasn't by the looks of you when you werefished out!" said he; "you were as blue as salmon!"

"Percy, cease your vulgar talk in this room, please!" said Mrs Rimbolt, whose equanimity was beginning to evaporate. "Mr Jeffreys, as we arenot likely to be amused by your levity--"

"Excuse me, madam, I am quite serious, " said Jeffreys, on whom theapparent jocularity of his last remark had suddenly dawned; "I had nointention of being rude, or treating your question as a joke. "

"Then, " said Mrs Rimbolt, slightly appeased in the prospect of gainingher object, "when I tell you Mrs Scarfe is kind enough to desire tohear about the accident from your own lips, perhaps your good mannerswill permit you to tell her about it. "

"Get upon the chair and give us a speech, Jeff, " said the irrepressiblePercy; "that's what ma wants. "

Jeffreys proceeded to give his version of the affair, distributing thecredit of his rescue in the order in which he considered it to be due, and greatly disappointing both Mrs Rimbolt and her guest by his evidentblindness to the heroism of Scarfe. He acknowledged warmly Percy'sreadiness to come to his help, and his promptitude in going for theladder, and he did full justice to Julius's share in the affair. As toScarfe's part, he stated just what had happened, without emotion andwithout effusiveness. 

He despised himself for feeling so chilly on the subject, and would havebeen glad, for Mrs Scarfe's sake, had he felt more warmly hisobligations to her son. But he spoke as he felt. 

"You have had a narrow escape from a watery grave, " said Mrs Scarfe, anxious to sum up in the hero's favour, "and my son, I am sure, isthankful to have been the means of saving your life. "

Jeffreys bowed. 

"I am glad he escaped falling in, " said he. 

"He had no thought of himself, I am sure, " said Mrs Rimbolt severely, "and claims no thanks beyond that of his good conscience. "

"We're going to get him a Royal Humane medal, Jeff, " added Percy; "a lotof fellows get it for a good deal less. "

"I hope he may get one, " said Jeffreys. "You and Julius should haveone, too. I thank you all. "

This was all that could be extracted from this graceless young man, andthe unsatisfactory interview was shortly afterwards terminated by MrsRimbolt's requesting him to go and tell Walker to bring some more coalsfor the fire. 

His conduct was freely discussed when he was gone. Mrs Rimbolt lookedupon it as a slight put upon herself, and was proportionately wrathful. Mrs Scarfe, more amiable, imagined that it was useless to look forgratitude among persons of Jeffreys' class in life. Scarfe himself saidthat, from what he knew of Jeffreys, he would have been surprised had heshown himself possessed of any good feelings. Percy, considerablypuzzled, suggested that he was "chawed up with his ducking. " And Raby, still more perplexed, said nothing, and hardly knew what to think. 

The next day, as Scarfe was smoking in the park, Jeffreys overtook him. A night's rest had a good deal softened the librarian's spirit. He wasashamed of himself for not having done his rescuer common justice, andhad followed him now to tell him as much. 

"Scarfe, " said he, "you will have considered I was ungratefulyesterday. "

"You were just what I expected you would be. "

"I am sorry, " said Jeffreys, now beginning to feel he had better farhave said nothing, yet resolved, now he had begun, to go through withit, "and I wish to thank you now. "

Scarfe laughed. 

"It is I who should be grateful for this condescension, " said hesneeringly. "So disinterested, too. "

"What do you mean? How could it be otherwise?"

"You have a short memory, Cad Jeffreys. Possibly you have forgotten alittle event that happened at Bolsover?"

"I have not forgotten it. "

"I dare say you have not thought it worth while to mention it to youremployer, Mr Rimbolt. "

"I have not mentioned it. "

"Quite so. That is what I mean when I say it is disinterested in you tocome and make friends with me. "

"That is false, " said Jeffreys glowing. "I neither want nor expectthat. "

"Kind again. At the same time you are not particularly anxious thatpeople here should hear the tragical history of young Forrester?"

"For heaven's sake be silent, Scarfe!" said Jeffreys, to whom themention of the name, after so many months, came like a blow. "I cannotbear it. "

Scarfe laughed. 

"Apparently not. All I want to say is, that I believe less in yourgratitude than in your fear, and you can spare yourself the trouble ofkeeping up that farce. "

"I am not afraid of you, " said Jeffreys, drawing himself up. "Of my ownconscience I am; and of the memory of poor young Forrester--"

"Hold your tongue. I have no wish to hear my friend's name on yourlips. "

Jeffreys turned to go. 

"Look here, " said Scarfe, calling him back, "I want to say one word. Iam sufficiently interested in Percy Rimbolt to dislike the influence youuse upon him. Your influence upon young boys is not to be trusted, andI warn you to let Percy alone. You are doing him no good as it is. "

"Is that all you want to say?" said Jeffreys. "No. I have my ownreason for choosing that you cease to offend Miss Atherton by yourattentions. You are no fit companion for her; and she and I--"

Jeffreys turned on his heel, and did not hear the end of the sentence. He marvelled at himself that he had not struck the fellow contemptuouslyto the ground; and he absolutely smiled in the midst of his misery atthe idea of Scarfe taking upon himself the moral upbringing of Percy andthe protector-ship of Raby! In the midst of these reflections he becameaware of the presence of Raby in the walk in front of him. 

The rencontre was unexpected on both sides, and promised to beembarrassing for Jeffreys. Raby, however, came to the rescue. 

"Mr Jeffreys, " said she, holding out her hand, "I do hope you are nonethe worse for yesterday. I was greatly afraid you would catch cold. "

"You took the kindest possible way of preventing it, " said Jeffreys. "Inever enjoyed a meal as much as the one Walker brought me yesterday, andI thank the kind sender. "

Raby blushed. 

"It was a shame no one else thought of it. But, Mr Jeffreys, you arethanking me, when it is I who ought to thank you for risking your lifefor me. "

"That is a new version of the story, " said Jeffreys. "It was somebodyelse who risked his life for me, and I know you despise me for appearingso churlish about it. "

"I was very sorry indeed for you in the drawing-room last night. "

"I deserved no sympathy. "

"I fancied you might have gushed a little when you saw how much auntie'sheart and Mrs Scarfe's were set on it. It would not have hurt you. "

"I cannot gush, Miss Atherton; but I can value your kindness to me, andI do. "

Raby smiled one of her pleasantest smiles. 

"I wish I had half your honesty, Mr Jeffreys. I am always pretendingto be something here which I am not, and I get sick of it. I wish Iwere a man. "

"Why? Is honesty confined to the male sex?"

"No; I suppose we can be honest too. But if I was a man I could go andbe of some use somewhere; I'm no good to anybody here. "

Jeffreys coloured up furiously, and looked as if he would run from thespot. Then, apparently thinking better of it, he looked down at her andsaid--

"Excuse me, you are. "

They walked on a little in silence, then Raby said--

"I am so glad, Mr Jeffreys, you managed Percy so well about thatsmoking yesterday; and how well he took it!"

"Of course; he's a gentleman and a fine fellow. "

"He forgets how much older Mr Scarfe is than he, and he imagines it isa fine thing to do whatever others do. But I think it is such a pity heshould waste so much time as he does now in the billiard-room and overthe fire. Don't you think it is bad for him?"

"I do. The day on the ice yesterday made a new man of him. "

"Do try to coax him out, Mr Jeffreys, you always do him good; and youmay be able to pull him up now before he becomes an idler. "

"I promise you I will do what I can. "

"He ought to be my brother, and not my cousin, " said Raby, "I feel sojealous on his account. "

"He is fortunate--may I say so?--in his cousin. Here is Mr Rimbolt. "

Mr Rimbolt had papers in his hand, and looked rather anxious. 

Raby, with a daughter's instinct, rushed to him. 

"Uncle, have you news from the war? Is anything wrong?"

"Nothing wrong, " said her uncle reassuringly; "I brought you this paperto see. It reports that there has been an encounter with the Afghansnear Kandahar, with complete success on the British side andcomparatively trifling loss. Particulars are expected almostimmediately. I telegraphed to town to get the earliest possibledetails. Meanwhile, Raby, don't alarm yourself unduly. "

"I won't, uncle; but where exactly was the battle?"

"You will see the names mentioned in the telegram. Jeffreys can showyou the exact spot in the atlas; we were looking at it the otherevening. "

Jeffreys thankfully accepted the task. He and Raby spent an hour overthe map, talking of the absent soldier, and trying, the one to conceal, the other to allay, the anxiety which the incomplete telegram hadaroused. 

At the end of the hour Scarfe walked into the library. His facedarkened as he saw the two who sat there. 

"Miss Atherton, " said he, looking not at her, but at Jeffreys, "have youforgotten we were to have a ride this morning?"

"I am so sorry, Mr Scarfe, but I have a headache, and don't feel as ifI could ride to-day. You will excuse me, won't you?"

"Oh, certainly, " replied Scarfe; "don't you think a turn in the parkwill do you good? May I have the pleasure of escorting you?"

Raby said, "Thank you. " She was very sorry to disappoint any one, andhad no valid excuse against a walk. 

"Miss Atherton, " said Scarfe, when they had gone some distance, chattingon indifferent topics, "I am anxious just to say a word to you, not inmy own interest at all, but your own. Will you forgive me if I do?"

"What is it?" said Raby, mystified. 

"I wish to put you on your guard against Jeffreys, who, I see, presumeson his position here to annoy you. You may not perhaps know, MissAtherton, that not two years ago--"

"Excuse me, Mr Scarfe, " said Raby quietly, stopping in her walk, "Ihate talking of people behind their backs. Mr Jeffreys has neverannoyed me; he has been kind to me. Shall we talk of something else?"

"Certainly, " said Scarfe, startled at her decided tone. He had laid hisplan for a little revelation, and it disconcerted him to see it knockedon the head like this. 

However, just then he was not in the humour for making himself obnoxiousto Miss Atherton, of whom, being a susceptible youth, he was decidedlyenamoured. It was a deprivation, certainly, to find his tongue thusunexpectedly tied with regard to Jeffreys, of whose stay at Wildtree hehad calculated on making very short work. 

The one comfort was, that there was little enough danger of her seeingin the ill-favoured Bolsover cad anything which need make him--Scarfe--jealous. Doubtless she took a romantic interest in this librarian; manygirls have whims of that sort. But the idea of her preferring him tothe smart Oxford hero was preposterous. 

Jeffreys would still believe in the sword of Damocles which hung abovehim, and the time might come when Raby would cease to stand between himand his Nemesis. 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. 

WILD PIKE. 

Before breakfast on the following morning, Scarfe, in fulfilment of along-standing engagement with a college friend to spend a day with him, rode off to catch the train at Overstone, and consequently was notpresent when the post arrived, and with it a telegram from London forMr Rimbolt. Raby, who had been on the watch, could scarcely allow heruncle time to examine its contents before claiming it; and had itcontained bad news, the chance of breaking them would have been out ofthe question. But it did not contain bad news. On the contrary, asRaby devoured the few official lines she became radiant with pride andhappiness. The telegram was a copy of a dispatch received the eveningbefore at the War Office:--

"News is to hand of a sharp brush with the Afghans on the 4th inst. At---, two days' march from Kandahar. About mid-day the--Hussars, commanded by Major Atherton, in advance of the main body, encounteredand dislodged from a defile on the right bank of the river aconsiderable body of the enemy, who fled to the plain. It becomingevident the enemy was at hand in force, a battery of field guns waspushed forward, under the escort of a troop of Hussars; and the mainbody followed in two columns. The cavalry meanwhile, having cleared thedefile and chased the enemy into the plain beyond, became involved in adesperate scrimmage, the Afghans having descended in full force into theplain with the evident intention of cutting them off from the main body. Major Atherton, completely hemmed in, made a desperate stand, in whichupwards of twenty of his men perished, the gallant officer himselfhaving his horse shot under him. The guns meanwhile, escorted byCaptain Forrester, of the--Hussars, gained the head of the defile, wherethey were immediately surrounded by the enemy. A brilliant resistancehere ensued, in which more than half of the escort were killed in theireffort to save the guns. Towards the end, Captain Forrester nearlysingle-handed kept the enemy at bay until the cavalry, breaking through, and joining forces with the two columns of the main body as they emergedon the plain, effectually turned the position and saved the guns. Theloss of the enemy was very considerable, and it is considered that thisaction clears the way to Kandahar, which the troops are expected tooccupy in two days without further resistance. Our loss, consideringthe perilous position of the cavalry and gunners, was comparativelyslight. Captain Forrester at the last moment fell after a resistance asheroic as any witnessed in the course of the campaign. Major Athertonreceived a scratch on the wrist; which, however, is not likely todisable him even temporarily. The main body never came into action atall, and suffered no casualties. A full list of the killed and woundedis appended. "

Jeffreys, who found himself almost as eager for news as if he had beenpersonally interested, found it difficult to wait patiently until MrRimbolt came after breakfast to the library. 

"Is there news from the war?" he asked. 

"Yes--good news, Miss Atherton has the telegram. Her father took partin a very brilliant engagement a day or two ago, which appears to havecleared the way to Kandahar. He was scratched, but not seriously. "

Jeffreys received this good news with great satisfaction. It was arelief to him to hear it in the first instance not from Raby's lips, forhe never knew what to do or say on such occasions. 

"Miss Atherton must be very proud, " said he, returning to his work. 

He was not, however, destined to remain long undisturbed. Raby, radiantand excited, entered the library a few minutes later. 

"Mr Jeffreys, " said she, "such splendid news. Has uncle told you? Ithought you would like to read the telegram; here it is. "

Jeffreys looked his congratulations as he took the paper. 

"Read it aloud, Mr Jeffreys, " said the happy girl, "I should like tohear how it sounds. " Jeffreys smiled and began to read; Raby, who knewit all by heart, seeming to check off every word. 

Suddenly, however, in the middle of the narrative the reader started andchanged colour, and became unaccountably breathless. 

"The guns meanwhile, escorted by--" he had got so far. 

"`Captain Forrester of the--Hussars. ' Go on, " said Raby. 

It needed all his self-command to finish the reading, and when he cameto the end and handed back the paper, Raby perceived that his hand shookand his face was deadly pale. 

"Why, what is the matter, Mr Jeffreys?" said she, suddenly alarmedherself; "it is good news, isn't it? and he has only got a scratch!"

"Yes, it is good news; and I congratulate you. "

"But you look--perhaps you know some one who has been killed. You nevertold me you had any friend out there. "

"I have not. I think I must be not quite well; will you excuse me?"

And he went out into the open air, leaving Raby very much perplexed andconcerned. She was relieved, however, to see him half an hour laterstarting off with Percy for what, to judge by their mountain boots andthe luncheon box strapped across Jeffreys' shoulders, promised to be along walk. 

Jeffreys' first sensations on finding himself alone had been those ofstupefaction. Although all that he knew of Forrester's father was thathe had been in India, it never occurred to him now for a moment that thegallant officer mentioned in the telegram could be any other than thefather whom he had so cruelly and irreparably wronged. And now oncemore he seemed suddenly face to face with his crime. He saw before himthat fatal scene in the Bolsover meadow; he heard his comrades' howl ofexecration and saw the boy's white face on the grass turned up to meethis. It seemed but yesterday. Nay, it seemed all to be there thatmoment; he could feel the keen breeze on his cheek; his eye rested onthe boy's cap where he had flung it; he was conscious of MrFreshfield's look of horror--he could even see twenty yards away thefootball lying idle between the goals. 

Strange, that the doubtful mention of an officer's name should call itall up thus! But so it was. He even seemed half guilty of that gallantdeath in Afghanistan. Had he not wronged him worse than death? and nowif anywhere the friendless boy, whose whole hope was in his father, should read those lines and find himself orphaned as well as crippled!

Jeffreys in his misery groaned aloud. 

"Hullo, " said Percy, in the path before him, "you in the blues too!What a jolly sell! Here am I as miserable as an owl, and everybody Imeet's miserable too. Scarfe's gone to Sharpfield, and won't be backtill late. Raby's so taken up with her precious telegram that she won'tlook at me. Ma and Mrs Scarfe, have bagged the pony trap and Appleby, and now you're looking as if you'd just been hung. "

"What are you in the blues about?" said Jeffreys, brightening up a bit. 

"Oh, everything. It's so slow here, nothing to do. Can't play gamesall day, and you won't let me smoke, and the library hasn't a singlestory worth reading, and it's beastly cold; and upon my word, " said theboy, who was genuinely miserable, "I'd as soon go and sit on the top ofWild Pike as fool about here. "

"The best thing you could do--I'll go and sit with you, " said Jeffreys. 

"What!" said the boy, "do you mean it? Will you come?"

"Of course I will; I have nothing special to do to-day, and I've neverbeen up a mountain in winter before. "

"We shall get a splendid view. Sure it won't grind you?" said the boy, who, under Scarfe's influence, had come to look upon every exertion as athing to be shirked. 

"My dear fellow, I shall enjoy it, especially with you, " said Jeffreys. 

"Hurrah--bring Julius too--and I'll get some grub to take. It's onlyten now, and it's not dark till after four, so we have a good sixhours. "

A few minutes later they started, Percy leaving word for his mother thatthey were going for a long tramp, and would be back for dinner. 

It was a perfect winter's day. The air was keen and frosty and promisedmagnificent views. The wind was not strong enough to be benumbing, andthe sun overhead was cheering and now and then even warm. 

"Hadn't we better take overcoats, in case it comes on cold at the top?"said Jeffreys as they were starting. 

"Oh no--they're a frightful grind to carry, and we are sure to be bakedbefore we get up. "

"I think I will take mine, " said Jeffreys, "and it will be no bother tocarry yours. "

Percy protested, but, luckily for them, Jeffreys carried his point. 

Wild Pike was one of those mountains, not uncommon in that district, which are approached from the back by a long gradual slope, but on thefront present a scooped-out precipitous face, as if broken in half onthat side. 

It was this steeper side which faced Wildtree, and Percy would havescorned to approach the monster from any other quarter. From where theystood the narrow path zigzagged for about one thousand feet onto one ofthe upper shoulders of the mountain. Following this, the track broughtthem to what seemed like the basin of some old volcano hollowed outunder the summit. 

It was necessary to cross this depression, and by a narrow ledge at thefoot of the great cliff gain the other side, where another zigzag ascentbrought them onto the rocky slope leading over a quarter of a mile ofhuge boulders to the summit. 

The passage across the face of the mountain was the most difficult partof the ascent. It lay along a narrow ledge hanging, so it seemed, half-way down the perpendicular cliff which rose out of the hollow, crater-like basin sheer up to the summit. 

It was tolerably level, but the narrowness of the track and theprecipitous height above and below called for a cool head and a steadyfoot. In frosty weather like the present it needed special caution, andevery step had to be carefully judged on the treacherous path. However, they passed it safely. Julius alone seemed to find it difficult. Thedog was strangely awkward to-day. 

He slid about where the others walked steadily, and whimpered atobstacles which they seemed scarcely to heed. 

"Now for the grub, " cried Percy, as they landed safely on the otherside. "I say, Jeff, I call that something like a mountain, don't you?I'm quite sorry we're over the worst of it, aren't you?"

"We've got the view to see yet, " responded Jeffreys. 

"We shall be up in half an hour. "

"And it will take us as long to come down as to go up to-day, " saidJeffreys, "so we ought not to lose much time. "

Off they started again after a hurried but highly appreciated meal, inwhich the dog took only a very moderate share. The remaining portion ofthe ascent was simple enough. The zigzag onto the top shoulder was ifanything less steep than the lower one, and the path, being rougherunderfoot, was less treacherous. 

The scramble over the loose rocks at the top onto the cairn was notaltogether plain sailing. In summer it was easy enough, but now, withthe surface of the great boulders as slippery as glass, it was hardly tobe traversed except on the hands and knees. 

Poor Julius floundered about pitifully, unable to keep his feet, anddisappearing bodily now and then among the interstices of the rocky way. Even Percy and Jeffreys stumbled once or twice awkwardly, and reachedthe summit with bruised limbs. But _finis coronat opus_, especially ona mountain. 

As they sprang up the cairn a view unequalled in grandeur broke uponthem. The frosty air was without haze in any quarter. The Scotch hillsbeyond the border and the broad heaving sea lay apparently equallywithin reach, and on the farthest western horizon even the fairy-likeoutline of the distant Irish hills, never visible except in the clearestwinter weather, shone out distinctly. 

"Isn't it scrumptious?" exclaimed Percy, as he flung himself breathlessonto the cairn. "If we had waited a year we couldn't have picked outsuch a day. Why, that must be Snowdon we see over there, and the highground out at sea, Holyhead?"

Thus they went on, delightedly recognising the landmarks north, south, east, and west, and forgetting both the hour and the rising breeze. 

"Why, it's two o'clock!" cried Percy presently, looking at his watch, and shivering at the same time. 

"Put on your coat, " said Jeffreys; "the wind's getting up a bit, and weshall have it in our faces going down. "

As they started to descend they became aware of a sudden change in thehitherto cloudless day. The western horizon, which had just now beenunfolding its distant beauties, seemed lost in a fine haze, which spreadnorth and south, blotting out one after another the glories of landscapeon which they had scarcely ceased to feast their eyes. 

"There's a mist out there, " said Percy, as they scrambled down theboulders; "I hope to goodness it will keep away from us. "

"The wind is a little north-west; it may drive it south of us, but it isspreading at a great rate. "

"Never mind; it will be rather a joke if it comes. I could find the waydown with my eyes shut, and I've often wanted to be in a regular fog uphere, " said Percy. 

"I don't know what you feel, " responded Jeffreys; "but I'm rather gladwe brought our coats. Isn't it cold?"

The wind which met them seemed charged with cold, and after a whilebegan to scatter a feathery sleet in their faces. 

Percy whistled. 

"We didn't bargain for that, I say, " said he. "I hope it shuts upbefore we cross over the ledge down there. "

Julius howled dismally. He, too, guessed what this blinding shower-bathforeboded, and stumbled along, miserable and shivering. 

The higher zigzag, which had seemed easy enough two hours ago, triedthem sorely now. The sleet half blinded them, and the fresh moisture, freezing as it fell, caused them to slip and slide at every step. Stillthey got down it somehow, and turned to face the narrow track along thecliff. Percy, much as he repined at the change in the elements, felt nodoubt as to the possibility of getting over. 

"We may have to crawl a bit of the way if this sort of thing goes on, "said he, "but it's straight enough sailing. "

"Would it be better, " suggested Jeffreys, "to go to the top again andget down by the Sharpenholme track?"

"We shouldn't get home till midnight if we did; besides, I don't knowthe way. We're all right this way if we look sharp. "

The wind had now increased to a tempest, and beat against the side ofthe great cliff with a sound like the sea breaking on an iron-boundshore. They could scarcely hear one another speak; and poor Julius'swhines were drowned in the great clamour. 

"Do you mind my going first?" said Percy; "I know the path better thanyou. "

Jeffreys nodded, and they started. The first step they took on thatledge threatened for a moment to be their last. The wind, gatheringfury every moment, beat Percy to his knees, and nearly sent Jeffreysstaggering over the ledge. 

"We shall have to crawl, " said Percy. "It's no use waiting. The windand sleet are going to make a night of it, and we shall gain nothing bywaiting. "

The start was begun again--this time cautiously and on all-fours. Evenso the wind seemed once or twice as if it would sweep them from theledge. Yard by yard they crawled on. The driving mist fell like a pallover the mountain, and in a few minutes they could not even see a yardin front of them. Had the wind blown crosswise, or in any other waythan that in which it came, they would have been swept off before twentyyards were accomplished. As it was, they were almost pinned to thecliff by the fury of the blast. 

They must have proceeded a quarter of the way across, and had reached aspot where the ledge rose slightly. Even up this slight incline, withthe mist freezing under them, it was impossible to crawl; and Percy, drawing himself cautiously to his feet, attempted to stand. 

As he did so, the wind, gathering itself into a furious blast, caughthim and hurled him against the rocky wall. He recoiled with a sharp cryof pain, and next moment would have fallen into the abyss beneath, hadnot Jeffreys' strong arm caught him and held him. His legs wereactually off the ledge, and for a moment it seemed as if both he and hisprotector were doomed. But with a tremendous effort the prostrateJeffreys swung him back onto the track. 

"Are you hurt?" he called. 

"My arm, " said Percy. "I'm afraid I can't get on. I'll try. "

But the attempt only called up a fresh exclamation of pain. 

"We must wait, " said Jeffreys. "Try to sit up, old fellow. I'll helpyou. "

It was evident that the boy's arm, if not broken, was so severelydamaged as to render it powerless. 

"I could stay here, I think, " said he, "if you went on, Jeff. "

"Nonsense!" said Jeffreys; "we'll send Julius to fetch help. Here, Julius, good dog, " said he, patting the dog's head and pointing down tothe valley, "go and fetch them here. Fetch Appleby, and Walker, and MrRimbolt. Go along, good fellow. "

The dog, who had been crawling behind them, looked wistfully at hismaster and licked the hand that caressed him. Then, stepping carefullyacross them as they sat with their backs to the rock and their feetbeyond the edge of the path, he departed. 

He was out of sight almost a yard away, but they heard him whine once asthe wind dashed him against the cliff. 

"Julius, good dog, fetch them!" shouted Jeffreys into the mist. 

A faint answering bark came back. 

Next moment, through the storm, came a wild howl, and they heard him nomore. 

Jeffreys guessed only too well what that howl meant; but he neverstirred, as with his arm round Percy, and his cloak screening him fromthe wind, he looked hopelessly out into the night and waited. 

CHAPTER NINETEEN. 

SCARFE PROMISES TO REMEMBER. 

"Jeff, " said Percy, after a minute or two, "it's nonsense your stayinghere to get frozen; do go on. "

"No, old fellow; I prefer your company to my own. "

"But, Jeff, we may not last out till the morning. "

"We won't give it up yet, though. " Jeffreys had great faith in thecaloric of hope, especially for a boy of Percy's temperament. Forhimself he saw enough to guess that their position was a desperate one. The ledge on which they sat was narrow and slanting, and the wind, shifting gradually to the west, began to get round them menacingly, andcause them now and then to grip at the stones while some speciallyfurious gust blew past. Add to that, Percy's arm was probably broken, and, despite a makeshift bandage and sling, adjusted at imminent perilof being swept away in the operation, increasingly painful. The mistwrapped them like a winding-sheet, and froze as it fell. 

"How long will Julius take getting down?" asked the boy. 

"Not long, " said Jeffreys, with a shudder, not wholly caused by thecold. 

"An hour? He could bring them up in three hours, couldn't he?"

"Less, perhaps. We can hold out for three hours. "

"Jeff, old fellow, do go; what _is_ the use of you staying?"

"Harder work for the wind to lift two of us than one. It can't lastlong, I'm certain; it's chopping already. "

They relapsed into silence, and listened to the storm as it dashed onthe cliffs above them. 

A quarter of an hour passed. Then Jeffreys felt the boy's head drop onhis shoulder. 

"Percy, old man, no sleeping, " said he, raising his head. 

"I'm not sleeping; only wondering where Julius is. "

But his voice was drowsy, and the words drawled out slowly and dreamily. 

"Perhaps he's down the lower zigzag now, " said Jeffreys, giving hiscompanion a shake, under pretext of readjusting the wraps. 

"I guess he'll go to Raby first, " said Percy. "Won't she be scared?"

"She will probably go to your father, and he'll get Appleby and Kennedyand some of the men, and they'll--Percy! hold up your head!"

"Scarfe would like to get engaged to Raby, but she would sooner--"

"Percy, old man, you're talking rubbish. Unless you sit up and keepawake we shall both come to grief. "

"I'll try, " said the boy, "but I don't know how. "

"Tell me something about your year at Rugby. I want to hear about it somuch. What form were you in?"

Then followed a desperate half-hour of cross-examination, Jeffreyscoming down with a question at the slightest symptom of drowsiness, andPercy, with all the cunning of a "somno-maniac, " taking time to thinkbefore each answer, and even shirking a syllable here or there in orderto snatch a wink. 

The daylight slowly faded out of the mist, but still the wind howled andshook them on their narrow perch at every gust. Jeffreys, with dismay, found his limbs growing cramped and stiff, boding ill, unless reliefsoon came, for the possibility of moving at all. 

Surely, though, the wind was abating. The dash overhead sounded atrifle less deafening; and the driving sleet, which an hour ago hadstruck on their faces, now froze their ears. 

Yes, the wind was shifting and falling. 

In the half-minute which it took Jeffreys to make this discovery Percyhad once more fallen asleep, and it required a shake more prolonged thanever to arouse him. 

"What!" said he, as he slowly raised his head, "are they here? Isfather there?"

"No, old boy, but the wind is going down, and we may be able to movesoon. Where did you field in that cricket match you were telling meof?"

"Short leg, and I made two catches. "

"Bravo! Were they hard ones? Tell me. "

So for another half-hour this struggle with sleep went on. Jeffreys hadmore to do than keep his companion awake. He accompanied every questionwith a change of position of his knees and arms, that he might be ablewhen the time came to use his limbs. It was little enough scope he hadfor any movement on that narrow ledge, but he lost no chance, and hisself-imposed fidgets helped not only himself but Percy. 

At last the roar on the cliffs changed into a surly soughing, and thegusts edged slowly but surely round behind the great buttress of themountain. 

"Percy, " said Jeffreys, "we must try a move. Can you hold yourselfsteady while I try to get up?"

Percy was wide awake in an instant. 

"I can hold on, but my other arm is no good for scrambling. "

"I'll see to that, only hold on while I get up. "

It was a long and painful operation; every joint and muscle seemed to becongealed. At length, however, by dint of a terrible effort, he managedto draw up his feet and even to stand on the path. He kicked up theearth so as to make a firm foothold, and then addressed himself to thestill more difficult task of raising the stiff and crippled Percy. 

How he did it, and how he half dragged, half carried him back along theledge to the firmer ground of the upper zigzag path, he never knew. Healways counted it as one of the miracles of his life, the work of thatstronger than human arm which had already helped him along his path, andwhich in this act showed that it still was with him. To stand even onthat steep mountain path was, after the peril of that fearful ledge, like standing on a broad paved road. 

"Where next?" said Percy. 

"Over the top and down by the Sharpenholme track. Do you see the moonis coming out through the mist?"

"All serene!"

The heroism of that night's adventure was not all absorbed by the eldertraveller. The boy who with indomitable hopefulness toiled up thatsteep ascent with a broken arm bandaged to his side, making nothing ofhis pain, was a type of English boy happily still to be met with, givingpromise of men of the right stuff yet to come to maintain the good nameof their country. 

They were not much in the humour for admiring the wonderful beauty ofthe scene as the mist gradually cleared and above them rose the fullwhite moon flooding the mountain and the hills beyond with its purelight. They welcomed the light, for it showed them the way; but theywould have sold the view twenty times over for a pot of hot coffee. 

At the top they met the tail end of the gale spending its littleremaining force on the mountain's back. It seemed like a balmy zephyrcompared with the tempest of a few hours ago. 

The descent down the broad grass track with its slight covering of snowtowards Sharpenholme had little difficulty; but the jolting triedPercy's arm as the steep climb with all its exertion had not done. 

Jeffreys noticed the boy's steps become more unsteady, and felt him leanwith increasing heaviness on his arm. 

"Percy, old boy, you are done up. "

"No--I--Suppose we rest a minute or two; I shall be all right. "

But while he spoke he staggered faintly and would have fallen but forJeffreys' arm in his. 

"I think if you went on, " said he, "I could rest a bit and followslowly. "

Jeffreys' answer was curt and decisive. 

He took the boy up in his arms as if he had been a baby, and, despiteall protestations, carried him. 

On level ground and under ordinary circumstances it would have been asimple matter. For Jeffreys was brawny and powerful; and the lightweight of the slender, wiry boy was nothing to him. But on thatslippery mountain-side, after the fatigue and peril of the afternoon, itwas as much as he could do to stagger forward under the burden. 

Yet--was it quite unnatural?--a strange sort of happiness seemed to takepossession of him as he felt this helpless boy's form in his arms, thehead drooped on his shoulder, and the poor bruised arm tenderlysupported in his hand. There seemed hope in the burden; and in thatbrotherly service a promise of expiation for another still more sacredservice which had been denied him! He tramped down that long gradualslope in a contented dream, halting often to rest, but never losingheart. Percy, too exhausted to remonstrate, yielded himself gratefully, and lay only half conscious in his protector's arms, often fancyinghimself at home in bed or lolling idly in the summer fields. 

It may have been midnight, or later still, when Jeffreys, looking beyondthe shadows projected by the moon in front of him, perceived a gleam oflight far down in the valley. 

"Probably, " thought he, "some honest shepherd, after his day's work, ishappily going to rest. Think of a bed, and a pillow, and a blanket!"

But no, the light--the lights, there were two--were moving--movingrapidly and evenly. 

Jeffreys stood still to listen. The wind had long since dropped intorest, and the clear night air would have carried a sound twice thedistance. Yes, it was a cart or a carriage, and he could even detectthe clatter of the horses on the hard road. Possibly some benightedwagoner, or a mail cart. 

He raised a shout which scared the sleeping rabbits in their holes andmade the hill across the valley wake with echoes. The lights stillmoved on. He set Percy down tenderly on the grass with his coat beneathhim. Then, running with all his speed, he halved the distance whichseparated him and the road, and shouted again. 

This time the clatter of the hoofs stopped abruptly and the lights stoodstill. 

Once more he shouted, till the night rang with echoes. Then, joyfulsound! there rose from the valley an answering call, and he knew all wassafe. 

In a few minutes he was back again where Percy, once more awake, wassitting up, bewildered, and listening to the echoes which his repeatedshouts still kept waking. 

"It's all right, old fellow; there's a carriage. "

"They've come to look for us. I can walk, Jeff, really. "

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, and they'd be so scared if they saw me being carried. "

So they started forward, the answering shouts coming nearer and nearerat every step. 

"That's Appleby, " said Percy, as a particularly loud whoop fell on theirears. It was, and with him Mr Rimbolt and Scarfe. 

When darkness came, and no signs of the pedestrians, the usualuneasiness had prevailed at Wildtree, increased considerably by Walker'sand Raby's report as to the mountaineering garb in which the missingones had started. The terrible tempest which had attacked the face ofWild Pike had swept over Wildtree too, and added a hundredfold to thealarm which, as hour passed hour, their absence caused. Scarfe, arriving at home about ten o'clock, found the whole family in a state ofpanic. Mr Rimbolt had been out on the lower slopes of the mountain, and reported that a storm raged there before which nothing could stand. The only hope was that they had been descending the back of themountain, and taken refuge somewhere in the valley for the night. Thecarriage was ordered out, and Mr Rimbolt and Scarfe started on whatseemed a forlorn hope. For an hour or two they passed and repassed thevalley road, inquiring at every cottage and farm without result. 

At last, just as they were resolving to give it up for the night, Appleby pulled up the horses suddenly, and said he had heard a shout. Instantly they jumped out and shouted back; and now, following thedirection of the voice, far up the great slope, they _met_ Jeffreys, with the boy leaning on his arm safe, but almost exhausted. 

Neither of them retained a vivid recollection of that drive home. Jeffreys was vaguely conscious of them calling on the way for thedoctor, and taking him along in the carriage. He also heard Scarfe saysomething to Mr Rimbolt in tones of commiseration, in which somethingwas added about the inconsiderateness and untrustworthiness of Jeffreys. But for the rest he reclined back in his seat, scarcely conscious ofanything but the rest and warmth. 

At Wildtree, the now familiar scene of the whole household gatheredpanic-struck an the threshold drove him precipitately to his room. Heknew what to expect if he stayed there. 

Jeffreys dropped asleep with the dog's howl ringing weirdly in his ears. In his dreams it seemed to change into that still more terrible howlwhich had stunned him long ago on the Bolsover meadow. It followed himas he carried young Forrester in his arms across that fatal ledge. Itwas pitch dark; and on the ledge Scarfe stood to drive him back. Thensuddenly a new bright path seemed to open at his side, into which hestepped with his precious burden. And as he did so he saw, far off, Raby standing at the end of the way. 

It was ten o'clock when he awoke; but the house was still asleep. Onlya few servants were stirring; and even Walker had taken advantage of theoccasion to "sleep in. "

Jeffreys was tough and hardy; and the night's rest had done more for himthan twenty doctors. He got up, shook himself, and behold his limbswere strong under him, and his head was clear and cool. He dressedhimself quietly and descended to the kitchen, where he begged an earlybreakfast of the servants. Then he sallied forth with his stick towardsWild Pike. 

The grand pile on this bright winter's morning looked almosthypocritically serene and benignant. The sunlight bathed the sterncliff which yesterday had buffeted back the wind with a roar as fierceas itself; and in the quiet spring-like air the peaceful bleating ofsheep was the only sound to be heard on the steep mountain-side. 

But Jeffreys did not turn his steps upward. On the contrary, he kept tothe lowest track in the valley, and took the path which led him nearestto the base of that terrible wall of rock. A hard scramble over thefallen stones brought him to a spot where, looking up, the top of thewall frowned down on him from a sheer height of five hundred feet, whilehalf-way down, like a narrow scratch along the face of the cliff, hecould just detect the ledge on which last night they had sat out thestorm. 

There, among the stones, shattered and cold, lay all that remained ofthe brave Julius. His fate must have overtaken him before he had gonetwenty yards on his desperate errand, and almost before that final howlreached his master's ears all must have been over. 

Jeffreys, as he tenderly lifted his lost friend in his arms, thoughtbitterly and reproachfully of the dog's strange conduct yesterday--hisevident depression and forebodings of evil--the result, no doubt, ofillness, but making that last act of self-devotion all the more heroic. 

He made a grave there at the base of that grand cliff, and piled up alittle cairn to mark the last resting-place of his friend. Then, trulya mourner, he returned slowly to Wildtree. 

At the door he encountered Mrs Rimbolt, who glared at him and sweptpast. 

"How is Percy this morning?" he inquired. 

"No thanks to you, Mr Jeffreys, " said the lady, with a double venom inher tones, "he is alive. "

"His arm, is it--?"

"Go to your work, sir, " said the lady; "I have no wish to speak to you. "

Jeffreys bowed and retreated. He had expected such a reception, andjust now it neither dismayed nor concerned him. 

On the staircase he met Raby. She looked pale and anxious, butbrightened up as she saw him. 

"Mr Jeffreys, " said she, "are you really up, and none the worse?"

"I am well, thank you, " said he, "but very anxious to hear about Percy. "

"He has had a bad night with his arm, but the doctor says he is going onall right. What a terrible adventure you had. Percy told me a littleof it. Oh, Mr Jeffreys, it is all my fault!"

Jeffreys could not help smiling. 

"By what stretch of ingenuity do you make that out?"

"It was I suggested your coaxing Percy out, you know; I might have beenthe death of you both. "

"You did not send the wind, did you, or the mist? If you did, of courseyou are quite entitled to all the credit. "

"Don't laugh about it, please. Percy was telling me how if it had notbeen for you--"

"He would never have been in any danger. Perhaps he is right. By theway. Miss Atherton, is there any chance of seeing him?"

"He has asked for you already; but auntie, I believe, would have a fitif you went near him. She seems to consider you are his evil genius;instead of being just the opposite. Tell me how Julius is--he went withyou, did he not?"

"I have been out this morning to bury Julius at the place where hefell. "

Raby, already unduly excited by the events of the past few days, brokeinto tears, and at the same moment Scarfe, descending the stairs, stoodbefore them. 

He looked first at Jeffreys, next at the girl. Then, taking her arm, hesaid--

"What is the matter? May I take you downstairs?"

"Oh no, " she cried, pushing away his hand, and dashing the tears fromher eyes. 

"Mr Jeffreys, I am so sorry, do forgive me!" and she ran upstairs toher own room. 

Jeffreys and Scarfe stood facing one another. 

"What is the meaning of this?" said the latter wrathfully. 

"It would not interest you. I was telling Miss Atherton about my dog. "

"Hang your dog! Did not I tell you that I did not choose for you toobtrude yourself on Raby?"

"You did, and I should be sorry to obtrude myself on any one, whetheryou choose it or not. "

"You appear to forget, Cad Jeffreys--"

"I forget nothing--not even that I am keeping you from your breakfast. "

And he quitted the scene. 

Later in the morning, as he was working in the library, Mr Rimboltentered and greeted him cordially. 

"Jeffreys, my dear fellow, you are constantly adding new claims on mygratitude. What can I say to you now to thank you for your heroismyesterday, about which Percy has just told us?"

"Pray say nothing, and discount Percy's story heavily, for he was thehero. With his broken arm and in all the danger he never lost heart fora moment. "

"Yes, he is a brave boy, too. But I came now to tell you he is askingfor you. Will you come and see him?"

Jeffreys followed the father gratefully to the sick-chamber. At thedoor he encountered Mrs Rimbolt, who, having evidently been present atthe boy's narrative, was pleased to regard him almost graciously, and, delightfully ignoring the previous encounter, to wish him good morning. Percy looked hot and feverish, but brightened up at once as he caughtsight of his protector. 

"Hullo, old Jeff, " said he, "isn't this all nonsense? They say I'm infor a mild congestion, and shall have to stick in bed for a fortnight. Just sit down; do you mind, and stay with me. You've pulled me throughso far; you may as well finish the job. "

Thus informally, and without consulting anybody, Jeffreys wasconstituted nurse-in-chief in the sick-chamber. The boy would tolerateno discussion or protest on the part of the authorities. He must haveold Jeff. Bother a hospital nurse, bother the doctor, bother Scarfe, bother everybody. He wanted Jeff; and if Jeff couldn't come he didn'tmean to take his medicine or do anything he ought to do. Walker hadbetter put up a chair-bed in the dressing-room for Jeff, and Jeff and he(Percy) could have their grub together. Of course all the others couldcome and see him, especially Raby--but he meant to have Jeff there forgood, and that was flat. Thus this selfish young invalid arranged forhis own pleasure, and upset all the sober arrangements of his friends. 

Jeffreys delightedly accepted his new duty, and faced the jealousy ofMrs Rimbolt and Scarfe unflinchingly. It was certainly an unfortunateposition for the fond mother; and little wonder if in her mind Jeffreys'brave service should be blotted out in the offence of being preferredbefore herself in the sick-chamber. She readily lent an ear to theinsinuations which Scarfe, also bitterly hurt, freely let out, andpersuaded herself miserably that her boy was in the hands of anadventurer who had cajoled not only the boy but the father, and in shortpersonated the proverbial viper at the fireside. 

So the fortnight passed. Percy turned the corner; and the time for thedeparture of Mrs Scarfe and her son drew near. 

Percy on the evening before they went had been less bright than usual, and had alarmed Jeffreys by a slight return of feverishness. He hadjust dropped off to sleep, and seemed about to settle quietly for thenight, when the door opened and Scarfe came in. 

Jeffreys was there in an instant with his hand raised in warning. 

"Hush, please, " said he, "he has just gone over. "

"Whom are you telling to hush? you canting brute!" said Scarfe, raisinghis voice in a passion unusual for him. "Let me come in, do you hear?"

And he moved forward, as if to force his way into the room. 

Jeffreys caught him by the two elbows and lifted him bodily out into thelanding, and then stood with his back to the door. 

Scarfe, livid with rage, made no attempt to get back into the room. Turning on his adversary, he said between his teeth--

"I shall remember this, " and departed. 

CHAPTER TWENTY. 

A POLITE LETTER-WRITER. 

Scarfe descended to the drawing-room, where he found Mrs Rimbolt alone. 

"I am so sorry you are going, " said she. "Your visit has been greatlyspoiled, I fear. You must come to us at Easter, when we shall be inLondon, you know. "

"Thank you; I shall be glad to come. I hope to find Percy well again. I went to wish him good-bye just now, but was pretty abruptly deniedadmission, so I must ask you to say good-bye for me. "

"Dear me, it is very annoying. I cannot understand the craze the boyhas taken for this companion of his. I am so sorry you should have beenannoyed. "

"I assure you I am far more annoyed on Percy's account than my own. Ihappen to know something of Jeffreys before he came to Wildtree. Totell you the truth, Mrs Rimbolt, I don't think he is a safe companionfor Percy at all. "

"I have long felt the same; but what is to be done, Mr Scarfe? MrRimbolt has almost the same craze as Percy for this librarian of his, and I have really no voice in the matter. He contrives to leave nothingdefinite to lay hold of; I should be thankful if he did. But it is mostuncomfortable to feel that one's own son is perhaps being ruined underthis roof. "

"It must be. It is no business of mine, of course, except that I amfond of Percy, and should be sorry to see harm come to him; and knowingwhat I do--"

At that moment Mr Rimbolt, with Mrs Scarfe, entered the room. 

"What secrets are you two talking?" said the latter. 

"Your son was just telling me how fond he is of Percy; and I am sure itwill be a great loss to Percy when he is gone. He has promised me tocome to see us in town at Easter. "

"It is a satisfaction that you can leave with the assurance that Percyis virtually well again, " said Mr Rimbolt. "Really, I do not know howwe should have got on without Mr Jeffreys to nurse him. I never knewsuch devotion. He has never wanted for a thing all the time; andJeffreys' influence is of the highest and manliest sort. Percy will beable to reckon this illness among the blessings of his life. "

Mr Rimbolt spoke feelingly and warmly. 

Scarfe and Mrs Rimbolt exchanged glances; and the conversation shortlyafterwards turned to the journey before the travellers. 

Scarfe had come down to the drawing-room resolved, cost what it would, to settle scores with Jeffreys there and then by denouncing him to thefamily on whose favour he was dependent; and had Mr Rimbolt's entrancebeen delayed a few minutes, Mrs Rimbolt would have known all aboutyoung Forrester. Once again, however, he was stopped in time, and a fewmoments' reflection convinced him it was as well. 

Raby, he knew, whatever she might think of Jeffreys, would never forgivethe informant who should be the means of turning him out of Wildtree, still less would Percy. Nor was Mr Rimbolt likely to esteem his guestmore highly in the capacity of tale-bearer; and he decidedly wished to"keep in" with all three. 

And there was another reason still. 

Scarfe was at the bottom of his heart not quite a villain, and much ashe detested Jeffreys, and longed to be revenged--for what injury docertain minds feel half so much as that which one man commits in beingbetter than another?--he had an uncomfortable suspicion in his mind thatafter all Jeffreys was not quite the miscreant he tried to imagine him. 

That he was guilty in the matter of young Forrester there was no doubt;but much as he should have liked to believe it, he could not be quitesure that the accident at Bolsover was the result of a deliberatemurderous design, or indeed of anything more than the accidentalcatastrophe of a blundering fit of temper--criminal, if you like, andcowardly, but not fiendish. And his conscience made coward enough ofhim just now to cause him to hesitate before plunging into ruin one who, hateful as he was to him, was after all a poor wretch, miserable enoughfor any one. 

Not having done what he intended to do, Scarfe felt decidedly virtuous, and considered himself entitled to any amount of credit for hisforbearance! It seemed a pity Raby should not know of this noble effortof self-denial. 

"Miss Atherton, " said he, just as they were about to separate for thenight, "I'm afraid you will have forgotten all about me when you see menext. "

"You are very uncomplimentary, Mr Scarfe. "

"I do not mean to be; and I'm sure I shall not forget you. "

"Thank you. This has been a very eventful visit. "

"It has; but I shall never regret that day on the ice, although I fear Imade one enemy by what I did. "

"You don't understand Mr Jeffreys; he is very shy and proud. "

"I understand him quite well, and wish for Percy's sake every one heredid too. But I am not going to disobey you, and talk of people behindtheir backs, Miss Atherton. I am sure you will approve of that. "

"I do; I never like it unless it is something nice of them. "

"Then I certainly had better not talk to you about Mr Jeffreys, " saidScarfe with a sneer, which did him more damage in Raby's eyes than atorrent of abuse from his lips. "Do you know you have never yet shownme the telegram you had about your father's last battle? It came themorning I was away, you know. "

"Yes. I fancied perhaps you did not care to see it, as you never askedme, " said Raby, producing the precious paper from her dress, where shekept it like a sort of talisman. 

"How could you think that?" said Scarfe reproachfully, who had quiteforgotten to ask to see it. 

He took the paper and glanced down it. 

"Hullo!" said he, starting as Jeffreys had done. "Captain Forrester! Iwonder if that's poor young Forrester's father?"

"Who is poor young Forrester?" inquired Raby. 

Scarfe read the paper to the end, and then looked up in well-simulatedconfusion. 

"Poor young Forrester? Oh--well, I dare say Jeffreys could tell youabout him. The fact is, Miss Atherton, if I am not allowed to talk ofpeople behind their backs it is impossible for me to tell you the storyof poor young Forrester. "

"Then, " said Raby, flushing, as she folded up the paper, "I've no desireto hear it. "

Scarfe could see he had gone too far. 

"I have offended you, " said he, "but really I came upon the name sounexpectedly that--"

"Do you expect to be working hard this term at Oxford?" said Raby, doingthe kindest thing in turning the conversation. 

It was hardly to be wondered at if she retired that night considerablyperplexed and disturbed. There was some mystery attaching to Jeffreys, which, if she was to set any store by Scarfe's insinuations, was of adisgraceful kind. And the agitation which both Scarfe and Jeffreys hadshown on reading the telegram seemed to connect this Captain Forrester, or rather his son, whom Scarfe spoke of as "poor young Forrester, " withthe same mystery. Raby was a young lady with the usual allowance offeminine curiosity, which, though she was charity itself, did not liketo be baulked by a mystery. 

She therefore opened a letter she had just finished to her father, toadd the following postscript:--

"Was this brave Captain Forrester who saved the guns a friend of yours?Tell me all about him. Had he a wife and children? Surely somethingwill be done for them, poor things. "

Early next morning Mrs Scarfe and her son left Wildtree. 

Jeffreys, from Percy's window, watched them drive away. 

"Very glad you must be to see the back of them, " said Percy. 

"I am glad, " responded Jeffreys honestly. 

"I'm not so frightfully sorry, " said Percy. "Scarfe's a jolly enoughchap, but he's up to too many dodges, don't you know? And he's dead onRaby, too. Quite as dead as you are, Jeff. "

"Percy, a fortnight's congestion has not cured you of the bad habit oftalking nonsense, " said Jeffreys. 

"All very well, you old humbug, but you know you are, aren't you?"

"Your cousin is very good and kind, and no one could help liking her. Everybody is `dead on her, ' as you call it, even Walker. "

Percy enjoyed this, and allowed himself to be led off the dangeroustopic. He was allowed to sit up for the first time this day, and held asmall _levee_ in his room. 

Jeffreys took the opportunity to escape for a short time to the library, which he had scarcely been in since the day on the mountain. 

He knew Mrs Rimbolt would enjoy her visit to the sick-chamber betterwithout him, and he decidedly preferred his beloved books to hermajestic society. 

Percy, however, was by no means satisfied with the arrangement. 

"Where's old Jeff?" said he presently, when his mother, Raby, and hewere left alone. "Raby, go and tell Jeff, there's a brick. You can bethe's in the library. Tell him if he means to cut me dead, he mightbreak it gently. "

"Raby, " said Mrs Rimbolt, as her niece, with a smile, started on hismajesty's errand, "I do not choose for you to go looking about for MrJeffreys. There is a bell in the room, and Walker can do it ifrequired. It is unseemly in a young lady. "

"One would think old Jeff was a wild beast or a nigger by the way youtalk, " said Percy complainingly. "All I know is, if it hadn't been forhim, you'd all have been in deep mourning now, instead of having tea uphere with me. "

"It is quite possible, Percy, " said his mother, "for a person--"

"Person!" interrupted the boy. "Jeff's not a person; he's a gentleman. As good as any of us, only he hasn't got so much money. "

"I fear, Percy, your illness has not improved your good manners. I wishto say that Mr Jeffreys may have done you service--"

"I should think he has, " interrupted the irrepressible one. 

"But it by no means follows that he is a proper companion for a goodinnocent boy like you. "

Percy laughed hilariously. 

"Really, ma, you are coming it strong. Do you see my blushes, Raby?"

"You must make up your mind to see a great deal less of Mr Jeffreys forthe future; he is not the sort of person--"

"Look here, ma, " said Percy, terrifying his parent by the energy withwhich he sprang to his feet. "I'm jolly ill, and you'd be awfully sorryif I had a fit of coughing and brought up blood, wouldn't you? Well, Ishall if you call Jeff a person again. Where _is_ Jeff, I say? I wantJeff. Why don't you tell him, Raby?"

After this, for a season at any rate, Percy was allowed to have his ownway, and jeopardised his moral welfare by unrestricted intercourse withthe "person" Jeffreys. 

They spent their time not wholly unprofitably. For, besides a good dealof reading of history and classics (for which Percy was rapidlydeveloping a considerable taste), and a good deal of discussion on allsorts of topics, they were deep in constructing the model of a new kindof bookcase, designed by Percy, with some ingenious contrivances forkeeping out dust and for marking, by means of automatic signals, theplace of any book which should be taken from its shelf. This wonderfulwork of art promised to eclipse every bookcase ever invented. The onlydrawback to it was that it was too good. Percy insisted on introducinginto it every "dodge" of which he was capable, and the poor model morethan once threatened to collapse under the burden of its own ingenuity. However, they stuck to it, and by dint of sacrificing a "dodge" here anda "dodge" there, they succeeded in producing a highly curious and notunworthy model, which Percy was most urgent that his father shouldforthwith adopt for his library, all the existing bookcases beingsacrificed for firewood to make way for the new ones. 

Mr Rimbolt diplomatically promised to give the matter hisconsideration, and consult authorities on the subject when next inLondon, and meanwhile was not unsparing in his compliments to theinventor and his coadjutor. 

So the time passed happily enough for Jeffreys, until about three weeksafter the Scarfes' departure, when the following amiable letter reachedhim with the Oxford post-mark on the envelope:--

Christ Church, _February 20th_. 

"Jeffreys, --You may have supposed that because I left Wildtree withoutshowing you up in your proper character as a murderer and a hypocrite, that I have changed my opinions as to what is my duty to Mr Rimbolt andhis family in this matter. It is not necessary for me to explain to youwhy I did not do it at once, especially after the blackguardly manner inwhich you acted on the last evening of my stay there. You being MrRimbolt's servant, I had to consider his convenience. I now write tosay that you can spare me the unpleasant duty of informing the Wildtreehousehold of what a miscreant they have in their midst by doing ityourself. If, after they know all, they choose to keep you on, there isnothing more to be said. You are welcome to the chance you will have oflying in order to whitewash yourself, but either I or you must tell whatwe know. Meanwhile I envy you the feelings with which I dare say youread of the death of poor young Forrester's father in Afghanistan. Howyour cowardly crime must have brightened his last hours!

"Yours, --

"E. Scarfe. "

Jeffreys pitched this elegant specimen of polite Billingsgatecontemptuously into the grate. He was not much a man of the world, buthe could read through the lines of a poor performance like this. 

Scarfe, for some reason or other, did not like to tell the Rimboltshimself, but he was most anxious they should know, and desired Jeffreysto do the dirty work himself. There was something almost amusing in theartlessness of the suggestion, and had the subject been less personallygrievous, Jeffreys could have afforded to scoff at the whole business. 

He sat down on the impulse of the moment and dashed off the followingreply:--

"Dear Scarfe, --Would it not be a pity that your sense of duty should nothave the satisfaction of doing its own work, instead of begging me to doit for you? I may be all you say, but I am not mean enough to rob youof so priceless a jewel as the good conscience of a man who has done hisduty. So I respectfully decline your invitation, and am, --

"Yours, --

"J. Jeffreys. "

Having relieved himself by writing it, he tore the note up, and tried toforget all about it. 

But that was not quite so easy. Scarfe's part in the drama he could notforget, but the question faced him, not for the first time. Had he anyright to be here, trusted, and by some of the family even respected?Was he not sailing under false colours, and pretending to be somethinghe was not?

True, he had been originally engaged as a librarian, a post in whichcharacter was accounted of less importance than scholarship and generalproficiency. But he was more than a librarian now. Circumstances hadmade him the mentor and companion of a high-spirited, honest boy. Wasit fair to Percy to keep a secret what would certainly shut the doors ofWildtree against him for ever? Was it fair to Mr Rimbolt to acceptthis new responsibility without a word? Was it fair to Raby, who wouldshrink from him with detestation, did she know the whole story?

Scarfe would have been amply satisfied had he been present to note thedisquietude which ensued for some days after the arrival of his letter. Jeffreys felt uncomfortable in his intercourse with Mr Rimbolt; heavoided Raby, and even with Percy he was often unaccountably reservedand pensive. 

"What are you in the blues about?" demanded that quick-sighted younggentleman on the first day out of doors after his illness. "Are yousorry I'm all serene again?"

"Rather, " said Jeffreys; "it's not been a bad time. "

"No more it has; but I must say I don't mind feeling my legs under me. I shall soon be ready for the top of Wild Pike again. But, I say, aren't you well? I expect you've been knocking yourself up over me?"

"Not a bit of it; I'm as well as anything. " Percy, however, was notsatisfied. He had a vague idea that young gentlemen in love were as arule sickly, and by a simple process of reasoning he guessed thatJeffreys and Raby "had had a row. " He therefore took an earlyopportunity of mentioning the matter to his cousin, greatly to thatyoung lady's confusion. 

"Raby, I say, look here!" he began, a day or two afterwards, as he andhis cousin were walking together. "What makes you so jolly down onJeff?"

"I down on Mr Jeffreys? What do you mean?"

"Well, he's so dismal, I'm certain he's eating his heart out about you!Why don't you back him up? He's a good enough chap and no end of abrick, and say what you will, he meant to fish you out that day on theice. He went off like a shot directly after the ice cracked. "

"Percy, you ridiculous boy!" said Raby, biting her lips; "how can youtalk such nonsense?"

"Oh! but he did, " persisted the boy. 

"I'm not talking about the ice, " said she. "Mr Jeffreys and I are verygood friends; chiefly on your account, too, " added she, with a vagueidea of qualifying her admission. 

"Oh, ah, that won't wash, you know, " said Percy. "Anyhow, it's nonsenseyou being so precious stiff with him; I'm sure he's as good as Scarfe. "

"Percy, if you cannot talk sense, " said Raby, nearly crying withvexation, "I shall not listen to you. "

"Oh, all serene!" responded Percy. "Of course you're bound to make outit's all humbug, but I know better. Come, don't be in a rage, Raby; youforget I'm an invalid. "

So they made it up on the spot, and Percy flattered himself he had donea great deal to make things right for Jeffreys. 

Jeffreys, however, was still harassed by perplexity, and was graduallyveering round to the conclusion that he must at all costs relieve hismind of his secret to Mr Rimbolt. He put the task off day after day, shrinking from the wrench of all the ties which made his life happy. 

One day, however, finding himself alone with Mr Rimbolt in the library, he suddenly resolved then and there to speak out. 

"Oh, Jeffreys, " began Mr Rimbolt, "I am very anxious to get those booksfrom the Wanley Abbey sale looked through and catalogued within the nextfew days if you can manage it. We all go up to London, you know, nextweek, and I should be glad to have all square before we start. "

"I have no doubt they can all be gone through before then. "

"I should like you to come to town, too, " said Mr Rimbolt. "Percy setsgreat store by your companionship; besides which, there are some veryimportant book sales coming on in which I shall want your help. "

"I had been going to ask you--" began Jeffreys, feeling his templesthrobbing like two steam-engines. 

"Oh, by the way, " interrupted Mr Rimbolt, taking a letter from hispocket, "did not you tell me you were at a school called Bolsover?"

"Yes, " faltered Jeffreys, wondering what was coming. 

"It's very odd. I have a letter from an old Oxford acquaintance ofmine, called Frampton, who appears to be head-master there, and whom Ihave never heard of for about sixteen years. He is fond of books, andwrites to ask if he may come and see the library. I've asked him tostay a night, and expect him here to-morrow. I dare say you will beglad to meet him. Perhaps he knows you are here?"

"No, I don't think so, " said Jeffreys. 

"Ah, then I dare say you will be glad to see one another again. "

Jeffreys was considerably staggered by this unexpected announcement, butit relieved him of all present perplexity as to speaking to Mr Rimboltof young Forrester. He would at least wait till Mr Frampton came, andput himself in his hands. 

Mr Frampton came, as young and fresh as ever. He was taking a threedays' run in the Lake country during a term holiday, and, determined todo and see all he could, had decided to visit his old college friend, and look over the now famous Wildtree library. 

His surprise at meeting Jeffreys was very considerable; and at first itseemed to the quondam pupil that his old master was shy of him. This, however, was explained as soon as they were alone, and had to do withthe seven pounds, which had burned holes in Mr Frampton's pockets eversince he received them, but which, not knowing Jeffreys' address, he hadnever been able to return. 

"I was never more pained than when I received this money, " said he. "Your guardian was written to by the clerk in ordinary course, but Inever imagined the bill would be passed on to you. "

Jeffreys had nothing for it but to take the money back, much as hedisliked it. Until he did so, Mr Frampton was too fidgety to beapproachable on any other subject. 

The morning after his arrival, they went up Wild Pike together--thefirst time Jeffreys had been on the mountain since the death of Julius. They had a fine day and no difficulty; but the long talk which beguiledthe way amply made up to Jeffreys for the lack of adventure. 

Mr Frampton told him much about Bolsover, and of how it was at lastbeginning to thrive and recover from the dry-rot; how this winter thefootball team had got up a name for itself; how the school discussionsociety was crowded with members; how the cricket prospects weredecidedly hopeful; and how two fellows had lately gained scholarships atOxford. Then he began to ask Jeffreys about himself, and got from him afull account of all that had befallen him since he left school. MrFrampton was a most sympathetic listener, and the poor "dog with a badname, " who had almost forgotten the art of speaking his mind fully toany one, warmed insensibly to this friend as they talked, and reproachedhimself for the pride and shortsightedness which had induced him to shuthimself out so long from his friendship. 

Then they talked of young Forrester. Mr Frampton made no attempt togloss over the wickedness of that unhappy act of passion. But he showedhow fully he made allowances for the poor blundering offender, and howhe, at least, saw more to pity than to upbraid in it all. 

He knew nothing of young Forrester's fate. He had seen in the papersthe notice of Captain Forrester's death, from whom, months before, hehad had a letter of inquiry as to his son's whereabouts, and to whom hehad written telling all he knew, which was but little. 

Then Jeffreys unfolded his present uncomfortable dilemma, and hisintention of speaking to Mr Rimbolt, and they talked it over veryseriously and anxiously. At last Mr Frampton said, --

"Let me speak to Mr Rimbolt. "

"Most thankfully I will. "

So Mr Frampton spoke to Mr Rimbolt, and told him frankly all there wasto tell, and Mr Rimbolt, like a gentleman who knew something ofChristian charity, joined his informant in pitying the offender. 

"Jeffreys, " said he, the day after Mr Frampton's departure, "yourfriend has told me a story about you which I heard with great sorrow. You are now doing all that an honest man can do, with God's help, tomake up for what is past. What I have been told does not shake mypresent confidence in you in any way, and I need not tell you that not asingle person in this house beyond yourself and me shall know anythingabout this unhappy affair. "

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. 

"GOING IT. "

Jeffreys started for London with a lighter heart than he had known sincehe first came to Wildtree. When he contrasted his present sense ofrelief with the oppression which had preceded it, he marvelled how hecould ever have gone on so long, dishonestly nursing his wretched secretunder Mr Rimbolt's roof. Now, in the first reaction of relief, he wastempted to believe his good name was really come back, and that MrRimbolt having condoned his offence, the memory of Bolsover wascancelled. 

It was a passing temptation only. Alas! that memory clung still. Nothing could alter the past; and though he might now feel secure fromits consequences, he had only to think of young Forrester to remind himthat somewhere the black mark stood against his name as cruelly as ever. 

Yet, comparatively, he felt light-hearted, as with the Rimbolt family hestood at last on the London platform. 

It was new ground to him. Some years ago Mr Halgrove had lived severalmonths in the Metropolis, and the boy, spending his summer holidaysthere, and left entirely to his own devices, had learned in a ploddingway about as much of the great city as a youth of seventeen could welldo in the time. 

The Rimbolts' house in Clarges Street was to Jeffreys' mind not nearlyso cheerful as Wildtree. The library in it consisted of a smallcollection of books, chiefly political, for Mr Rimbolt's use in hisparliamentary work; and the dark little room allotted to him, with itslook-out on the mews, was dull indeed compared with the chamber atWildtree, from which he could at least see the mountain. 

Nor did he by any means enjoy the constant round of entertainments whichwent on in London, at which he was sometimes called upon in a humble wayto assist. He had been obliged, in deference to Mrs Rimbolt's broadhints, to buy a dress suit, and in this he was expected on occasions topresent himself at the end of a grand dinner-party, or when Mr Rimboltrequired his professional attendance. 

For, there being no books to take care of here, Mr Rimbolt availedhimself of his librarian's services as a private secretary in someimportant political business, and found him so efficient and willing, that he proposed to him a considerable increase in his salary, inconsideration of his permanently undertaking a good share of hisemployer's ordinary correspondence. 

The chief portion of Jeffreys' time, however, still belonged to Percy, and it was a decided relief to him that that young gentleman scoffed atand eschewed the endless hospitalities and entertainments with which hismother delighted to fill up their life in London. 

"I don't see the fun of gorging night after night, do you, Jeff? A goodspread's all very well now and again, but you get sick of it sevennights a week. Makes me sleepy. Then all these shows and things! I'vea good mind to get laid up again, and have a real good time. There's tobe no end of a crowd here to-night--everybody. I shall cut it if I can;shan't you?"

"Mr Rimbolt wants me to come into the drawing-room after dinner, " saidJeffreys. 

"All serene! That won't be till nine. Come up to Putney, and have arow on the river this afternoon. "

Percy was an enthusiastic oarsman, and many an afternoon Jeffreys andhe, flying from the crowd, had spent on the grand old Thames. Jeffreysenjoyed it as much as he, and no one, seeing the boy and his tutortogether in their pair-oar, would have imagined that the broader of thetwo was that ungainly lout who had once been an object of derision inthe Bolsover meadows. 

The party that evening was, as Percy predicted, a very large one, andJeffreys had the discomfort of recognising a few of the guests who lastautumn had helped to make his position so painful. 

They, to do them justice, did not now add to his discomfort byrecognising him. Even the lady who had given him that half-crownappeared wholly to have forgotten the object of her charity. 

What, however, made him most uncomfortable was the sight of Mrs Scarfe, and hearing her say to Percy, "Edward is coming on Saturday, Percy; heis looking forward with such pleasure to taking you about to see theUniversity sports and the Boat Race. Your dear mamma has kindly askedtwo of his college friends to come too, so you will be quite a merryquartette. "

Jeffreys had nearly forgotten Scarfe's existence of late. He no longerdreaded him on his own account, but on Percy's he looked forward toSaturday with dismay. He would have liked to know also, as a merematter of curiosity of course, what Raby thought about the promisedvisit. 

His own communications with that young lady had not been very frequentof late, although they continued friendly. Percy's nonsense gave themboth a considerable amount of embarrassment; for although Jeffreys neverfor a moment supposed that Mr Rimbolt's niece thought twice about himexcept as a persecuted dependant and a friend to Percy, to have anythingelse suggested disturbed his shy nature, and made him feel constrainedin her presence. 

"You'll have to mind your eye with Raby now that Scarfe's coming, " saidPercy that night. "You bet he'll try to hook her. I heard his motherflying kites with ma about it, to see how the land lies. "

Jeffreys had given up the formality of pretending, when Percy launchedout on this delicate subject, not to know what he was talking about. 

"Whatever Scarfe does, " said he, "is nothing to me. "

"What I don't you and Raby hit it off, then?"

"Hit what off?"

"I mean aren't you dead on her, don't you know?--spoons, and all thatsort of thing?"

"I am not aware that I entertain feelings towards anybody which could bedescribed by any article of cutlery at all. "

"Well, all I can say is, when I blowed her up for being down on you, sheblushed up no end, and cried too. I should like to know what you callthat, if it isn't spoons?"

"I think it would be kinder, Percy, if you did not talk to your cousinabout me; and I fancy she would as soon you did not talk about her tome. "

"Well, that's rather what I should call a shut-up, " said Percy. "Itbothers me how people that like one another get so precious shy ofletting the other fellow know it. I know I shan't. I'll have it out atonce, before any other chap comes and cuts me out. "

With which valiant determination Percy earned Jeffreys' gratitude byrelapsing into silence. 

He was, however, destined to have the uncomfortable topic revived inanother and more unexpected quarter. 

On the day before Scarfe's proposed visit, Walker accosted him as he wasgoing out, with the announcement that my lady would like to speak to himin the morning-room. 

This rare summons never failed to wring a groan from the depths of thelibrarian's spirit, and it did now as he proceeded to the torture-chamber. 

The lady was alone, and evidently burdened with the importance of theoccasion. 

"Mr Jeffreys, " said she, with a tone of half conciliation which put upJeffreys' back far more than her usual severe drawl, "kindly take aseat; I wish to speak to you. "

"It's all up with me!" groaned the unhappy Jeffreys inwardly, as heobeyed. 

Mrs Rimbolt gathered herself together, and began. 

"I desire to speak to you, Mr Jeffreys, in reference to my niece, MissAtherton, who, in her father's absence, is here under my protection andparental control. "

Jeffreys flushed up ominously. 

"It does not please me, Mr Jeffreys, to find you, occupying, as you do, the position of a dependant in this house, so far forgetting yourself asto consider that there is anything in your respective positions whichjustifies you in having communications with Miss Atherton other thanthose of a respectful stranger. "

Jeffreys found himself frivolously thinking this elaborate sentencewould be an interesting exercise in parsing for the head class atGalloway House. He barely took in that the remarks were intended forhim at all, and his abstracted look apparently disconcerted MrsRimbolt. 

"I must request your attention, Mr Jeffreys, " said she severely. 

"I beg your pardon. I am all attention. "

"I am quite willing to suppose, " continued she, "that it is ignorance onyour part rather than intentional misconduct which has led you intothis; but from henceforth I wish it to be clearly understood that Ishall expect you to remember your proper station in this house. MissAtherton, let me tell you, has no need of your attentions. Youperfectly understand me, Mr Jeffreys?"

Jeffreys bowed, still rather abstractedly. 

"You do not reply to my question, Mr Jeffreys. "

"I perfectly understand you, madam. "

"I trust I shall not have to speak to you again. "

"I trust not, " said Jeffreys, with a fervour which startled the lady. 

He left the room, outraged, insulted, sorely tempted to shake the dustof the place once and for all from off his feet. The evil temper withinhim once more asserted itself as he flung himself into his room, slamming the door behind him with a force that made the whole housevibrate. 

The narrow room was insupportable. It stifled him. He must get outinto the fresh air or choke. 

On the doorstep he met Mr Rimbolt, alighting from his brougham. 

"Oh, Jeffreys, so glad to have caught you. Look here. I find I must bein the House to-night and to-morrow, and I intended to go down to Exeterto attend that four days' sale of Lord Waterfield's library. I must getyou to go for me. You have the catalogue we went through together, withthe lots marked which I must have. I have put an outside price againstsome, and the others must be mine at any price--you understand. Stickat nothing. Take plenty of money with you for travelling and expenses. Do things comfortably, and I will give you a blank cheque for the books. Mind I must have them, if it comes to four figures. Go down by theFlying Dutchman to-night, and send me a telegram at the end of each dayto say what you have secured. "

The proposal came opportunely to Jeffreys. He was in the humour ofaccepting anything for a change; and this _carte blanche_ proposal, andthe responsibility it involved, contained a spice of excitement whichsuited with his present mood. 

He went down to Exeter that night, trying to think of nothing but LordWaterfield's books, and to forget all about Raby, and Percy, and MrsRimbolt, and Scarfe. 

The last-named hero and his two friends duly presented themselves atClarges Street next day. Scarfe was in great good-humour with himself, and even his antipathies to the world at large were decidedly modifiedby the discovery that Jeffreys was out of town. 

His two friends were of the gay and festive order--youths who would haveliked to be considered fast, but betrayed constantly that they did notyet know the way how. 

Percy, with his usual facile disposition, quickly fell into the ways ofthe trio, and rather enjoyed the luxury of now and then getting a riseout of the undergrads by showing that "he knew a thing or two" himself. 

They spent their first few days together in "going it"--that is, inseeing and doing all they could. Scarfe's friends began shyly, feelingtheir way both with their host and hostess and with their son. But thenthey saw that Mr Rimbolt was far too engrossed to think of anythingbeyond that they should all enjoy themselves and do as they liked--whenthey saw that Mrs Rimbolt swore by Scarfe, and, to use the choicelanguage of one of them, "didn't sit up at anything as long as theNecktie was in it"--and when they saw that Percy was a cool hand, and, whatever he thought, did not let himself be startled by anything, thesetwo ingenuous youths plucked up heart and "let out all round. "

They haunted billiard saloons, but failed to delude any one into thebelief that they knew one end of a cue from another. They went totheatres, where the last thing they looked at was the stage. Theyplayed cards without being quite sure what was the name of the game theyplayed. They smoked cigars, which it was well for their juvenilestomachs were "warranted extra mild"; and they drank wine which neithermade glad their hearts nor improved their digestions; and they spicedtheir conversation with big words which they did not know the meaning ofthemselves, and would certainly have never found explained in thedictionary. 

Percy, after a few days, got sick of it. He had never "gone it" in thisstyle before; and finding out what it meant, he didn't see much fun init. Late hours and unwholesome food and never-ending "sport" did notagree with him. He had looked forward to seeing a lot of the boatpractice on the river, and hearing a lot about University sport andlife. But in this he was disappointed. The "boats" were voted anuisance; and whenever the talk turned on Oxford it was instantlytabooed as "shop. " Scarfe sneered to him in private about these twofools, but when with them he "went it" with the rest, and made noprotest. 

"Percy, " said Raby, two or three days after this sort of thing had beengoing on, "you look wretchedly pale and tired. Why do you stay out solate every night?"

"Oh, " said Percy wearily, "I don't know--we humbug about. Nothing verybad. "

"If it makes you ill and wretched, I say it is bad, Percy, " said thegirl. 

"Oh, I don't know. Scarfe goes in for it, you know. "

"I don't care a bit who goes in for it. It's bad. "

"You don't mean to say you think Scarfe is a bad lot?"

"Don't speak to me of Mr Scarfe. I hate him for this!"

Percy whistled. 

"Hullo, I say! here's a go!" he cried. "Then you're really spoons onJeff after all? How awfully glad he'll be when I tell him!"

"Percy I shall hate _you_ if you talk like that!" said the girl. "Ihate any one who is not good to you; and it is certainly not good to youto lead you into folly and perhaps wickedness. "

This protest had its effect on Percy. The next day he struck, andpleaded an excuse for accompanying the precious trio on an expedition toWindsor, to be consummated by a champagne supper at the "Christopher. "

They urged him hard, and tempted him sorely by the prospect of a row onthe river and any amount of fun. He declined stubbornly. He wasfagged, and not in the humour. Awfully sorry to back out and all that, but he couldn't help it, and wanted to save up for the Sports and BoatRace on Friday and Saturday. 

They gave him up as a bad job, and started without him. 

He watched them go without much regret, and then, putting on his hat, walked off towards Paddington to meet Jeffreys, who was due in about anhour. 

The quiet walk through the streets rather revived him; and the prospectof seeing Jeffreys again was still more refreshing. 

Of course he knew he should have to tell him of his folly, and Jeffwould "sit on him" in his solemn style. Still, that was better thangetting his head split open with cigars, and having to laugh at a lot oftrashy jokes. 

Jeffreys was delighted to see him; and the two were leaving Paddingtonarm-in-arm when Scarfe and his two friends, alighting from a cab, suddenly confronted them. 

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. 

THE BAD NAME. 

Percy was riotously greeted by Scarfe's two friends. "Hullo, old man!"cried one of them; "then you thought better of it, after all, and meanto join us! That's the style!"

"Bring your handsome friend with you. More the merrier. There'll bechampagne enough for the lot. "

"Look alive, " said Percy; "you'll lose your train. Jeff and I aren'tcoming. "

"Why not?" said they. 

"Because we're going the other way, " replied Percy, who, when his mindwas made up, did not appreciate anybody's importunity. "I've not seenJeff for a week. "

"Who is this precious Jeff?" said one of Scarfe's friends, pointing overhis shoulder to the librarian. 

"He's a gentleman employed by the month to look after Percy's morals, "said Scarfe, with a sneer. 

"A parson! What a game! No wonder Percy draws in his horns a bit whenhe comes home. Anyhow, we must save him from the paws of the lion if wecan. I say, Percy, you must come, old man. We made all thearrangements for four, boat and everything; and if you don't want tostay late we'll give up the supper. Only don't spoil our day, there's agood fellow. You'll be able to see lots of your friend when we'vegone. "

"You be hanged, " observed Percy, now in an uncomplimentary mood;"haven't I told you I'm not coming? What more do you want?"

"Oh, of course, if you're so taken up with this reverend thing ofbeauty, " said one of them sulkily, "we're out of it. I should havethought he could have snuffled to himself for a day without wanting youto help him. "

Scarfe all this time stood by in a rage. The sight of Jeffreys was tohim like the dead fly in the apothecary's ointment. It upset him andirritated him with everybody and everything. He had guessed, onreceiving no reply to his recent polite letter, that he had exposed hisown poor hand to his enemy, and he hated him accordingly with a doublehatred. 

He contrived, however, to keep up an appearance of scornfulindifference. 

"You are still reaping the rewards of virtue, pious homicide, " hesneered. 

"I still envy the upright man who does his duty, " replied Jeffreys, scarcely less bitterly. 

"What do you mean, you--"

"I mean what I say, " said Jeffreys, turning on his heel, and takingPercy's arm. 

They walked home, and before Clarges Street was reached Percy had toldhis friend an unvarnished story of the follies of the last few days, andenlisted his support in his determination to pull up. 

There was something touching in the mingled shame and anger of the proudboy as he made his confession, not sparing himself, and full of scorn atthose who had tempted him. Jeffreys was full of righteous wrath on hisbehalf, and ran up a score against Scarfe which would have astonishedthat worthy, listlessly loafing about at Windsor, had he guessed it. 

"I've promised to go and see the Boat Race with them, " said Percy; "butyou must come too. I know you'll hate it, and so will they; but somehowI can't do without a little backing up. "

"I'll back you up, old fellow, all I can, I only wish, " added he, forthe boy's confidence in him humiliated him, "I had a better right to doit. "

"Why, Jeff, I don't suppose you ever did a bad thing in your life. "

"Don't say that, " said Jeffreys almost appealingly, "I have!"

The boy looked up at him, startled for a moment by his tone. Then hesaid, with a return of his old look of confidence--

"Poor old Jeff! That's what makes you so blue sometimes. If it weren'tfor you, I'd have a precious good right to be in the blues too. "

Jeffreys, who had not entered the house since his interview with MrsRimbolt, felt anything but comfortable as he again set foot within it;and had it not been for Percy's countenance, he would have felt it stillmore of an ordeal. 

He had, however, plenty to occupy his mind during the hour or two whichfollowed. Mr Rimbolt was waiting for him eagerly, to hear all aboutthe sale and the purchases which had been made. 

"You've done a capital stroke of business for me, Jeffreys, " said he, when the report had been concluded. "Those three Caxtons I would nothave missed for anything. I am quite glad that business will take meNorth next week, as I shall be able to run over to Wildtree and see someof the treasures unpacked. I shall, however, leave them for you finallyto arrange when we all go back in June. You've seen Percy? I fancy hehas been racketing rather too much with these friends of his; but Iimagine Scarfe would see he went into no mischief. However, I am gladyou have come back, for the boy's sake, as you understand him. Thissummer I think you should take him a little run in Normandy orSwitzerland. It would do him good, and you, too, to knock about abroadfor a week or two. However, there's time enough to talk about that. And I dare say you will be glad now to get a little rest after yourjourney. "

Jeffreys returned to his room very contentedly. The confidence MrRimbolt reposed in him was soothing to his spirits, and went far toobliterate the memory of that hideous interview last week. 

Percy was out when, after washing and changing his travelling garb, hecame down to the morning-room, which he usually occupied during theafternoon. 

To his surprise, and even consternation, Raby was there, writing. 

She rose, brightly, almost radiantly, as he entered. 

"Oh, Mr Jeffreys, how glad I am to see you back! Poor Percy has beenin such want of you! These Oxford friends of his, I am certain, havenot been doing him any good. Have you seen him? I am so happy you havecome back!"

Jeffreys was not made of adamant, and a greeting like this, even thoughit was offered on some one else's behalf, was enough to drive MrsRimbolt completely out of his head. 

"I am very fortunate to be able to make you happy so easily, " said he. "Yes, I have seen Percy, and heard all his troubles. How could any onehelp being grateful for a confidence like his? You know, Miss Atherton, I would do anything for him. "

"I believe you, " said she warmly. "You are good and unselfish. "

"Do you mind my saying, " said Jeffreys, colouring, "that it is anadditional pleasure to do what I can for Percy if it makes you happy?"

"I don't mind your saying it if it is true. It does make me happy. "

And her face was the best witness to her sincerity. 

Jeffreys was not the only person who saw that bright smile. MrsRimbolt, entering the room at that moment, saw it too, and heard thewords which it accompanied. 

She glared round witheringly on Jeffreys. 

"So, Mr Jeffreys, _you_ are here. What brings you here?"

"Mr Jeffreys--" began Raby, feeling and looking very confused. 

"Silence, Raby, I asked Mr Jeffreys. "

"I came here not knowing the room was occupied. It was a pleasantsurprise to find Miss Atherton here, and she has been making me happy bytalking to me about Percy. "

"Mr Jeffreys, " said the lady, "allow me to say I do not believe you. "

"Auntie!" exclaimed Raby, firing up in a manner unusual to her; "it istrue. Mr Jeffreys always tells the truth!"

"Raby, my dear, you had better leave the room. "

"No, auntie!" exclaimed the girl. "You have no right to charge MrJeffreys with saying what is not true. It's not fair--it's wrong--it'swicked!"

"You forget, my dear, of all persons you should not address me likethis. "

"No, " said the girl, going to the door, which Jeffreys opened for her. "I don't forget, and I shall not forget. You have no right to say it. I wish father was home again, and would take me away!"

In the midst of his own indignation, Jeffreys could not help admiringthis outbreak of righteous indignation on the part of the spirited girl. 

Mrs Rimbolt little guessed how much she herself was doing to defeat herown ends. 

"Mr Jeffreys, " said she, after Raby had gone, "after our interview lastweek, your conduct is both disgraceful and dishonourable. I should nothave believed it even of you. "

"Pardon me, madam. You have charged me with telling you a lie just now. Is that so?"

His tone was strangely peremptory. Mrs Rimbolt had never seen him likethis before--and for the moment it disconcerted her. 

"What I heard as I entered the room had no reference to Percy, " saidshe. 

"Excuse me--it had. Miss Atherton--"

"If it had, I must believe you. I wish to hear no more about it. Butafter your promise last week--"

"I made no promise, and should decline to do so. I am quite aware of myposition here, and am ready to give it up when called upon. But while Istay here and do my work, Mrs Rimbolt, I claim to be protected frominsult. "

"It is useless to prolong this interview, Mr Jeffreys, " said MrsRimbolt, half-scared by the turn things had taken. "I never expected tobe addressed in this way in my own house by one who is dependent on myhusband for his living. You can leave me, sir. "

Jeffreys bowed, and retired to his room, where he awaited as calmly ashe could what appeared to him the inevitable end of the scene--a noticeto quit. 

But it did not come. Mrs Rimbolt knew herself to be in the wrong. Herhusband, she knew, if she laid the case before him, would judiciallyinquire into its merits, and come to the same conclusion. In that caseher dominion would be at an end. Even the Mrs Rimbolts have an eye tothe better half of valour sometimes, and so Jeffreys was left sittingfor an ultimatum which did not come. 

Raby had a still worse ordeal before her. At first her indignation hadreigned supreme and effaced all other emotions. Gradually, however, afeeling of vague misery ensued. She longed to be away in India with herdear soldier father; she wished Jeffreys had never come under theWildtree roof to bring insult on himself and wretchedness to her. Shedreaded the future for her boy cousin without his protector, and halfwished him dead and safe from temptation. 

In due time her brave spirit came back. She despised herself for herweakness, and, resolved boldly to face her aunt and every one, she camedown to dinner. 

It was strictly a family party, with Mrs Scarfe added; for the otherthree visitors had not yet returned from Windsor. Raby soughtprotection from her aunt by devoting herself to Mrs Scarfe, and quitedelighted that good lady by her brightness and spirit. Mrs Scarfe tookoccasion in the drawing-room afterwards to go into rhapsodies to heryoung friend regarding her son; and when about ten o'clock the holiday-makers arrived home, in high spirits and full of their day's sport, sheachieved a grand stroke of generalship by leaving the two young peopletogether in the conservatory, having previously, by a significantpressure of her son's arm, given him to understand that now was his timefor striking while the iron was hot. 

Scarfe was in an unusually gay mood, and still a little elevated by thefestivities of the day. 

"I'm sure you missed us, " said he, "didn't you?"

"The house was certainly much quieter, " said Raby. 

"Do you know, " said he, "it's rather pleasant to feel that one ismissed?"

Raby said nothing, but began to feel a desire to be safely back in thedrawing-room. 

"Do you know we drank toasts to-day, like the old knights, to our ladyloves?" continued Scarfe. 

"Indeed, " replied Raby, as unconcernedly as she could. 

"Yes--and shall I tell you the name I pledged? Ah, I see you know, Raby. "

"Mr Scarfe, I want to go back to the drawing-room; please take me. "

Scarfe took her hand. His head was swimming, partly with excitement, partly with the effects of the supper. 

"Not till I tell you I love you, and--"

"Mr Scarfe, I don't want to hear all this, " said Raby, snatching herhand away angrily, and moving to the door. 

He seized it again rudely. 

"You mean you don't care for me?" asked he. 

"I want to go away, " said she. 

"Tell me first, " said he, detaining her; "do you mean you will not haveme--that you don't love me?"

"I don't, " said she. 

"Then, " said he, sober enough now, and standing between her and thedoor, "there is another question still Is the reason because some oneelse in this house has--"

"Mr Scarfe, " said Raby quietly, "don't you think, when I ask you to letme go, it is not quite polite of you to prevent me?"

"Please excuse me, " he said apologetically. "I was excited, and forgot;but, Raby, do let me warn you, for your sake, to beware of this fellowJeffreys. No, let me speak, " said he, as she put up her hand to stophim. "I will say nothing to offend you. You say you do not care forme, and I have nothing to gain by telling you this. If he has--"

"Mr Scarfe, you are quite mistaken; do, please, let me go. "

Scarfe yielded, bitterly mortified and perplexed. His vanity had allalong only supposed one possible obstacle to his success with Raby, andthat was a rival. That she would decline to have him for any otherreason had been quite beyond his calculations, and he would not believeit now. 

Jeffreys may not have actually gone as far as to propose to her, but, soit seemed, there was some understanding between them which barredScarfe's own chance. The worst of it all was that to do the one thinghe would have liked to do would be to spoil his own chance altogether. For Raby, whether she cared for Jeffreys or not, would have nothing tosay to Scarfe if he was the means of his ruin. 

The air during the next few days seemed charged with thunder. MrsRimbolt was in a state of war with every one, Mrs Scarfe was poorly, the two Oxford visitors began to vote their visit slow, Scarfe wasmoody, Raby was unhappy, Jeffreys felt continually half-choked, Percyalone kept up his spirits, while Mr Rimbolt, happiest of all, went upNorth to look at his old books. 

No one was particularly sorry when the visits came to an end. Even theSports and Boat Race had failed to revive the drooping spirits of theOxonians, and on the Monday following it was with a considerable stretchof politeness that they all thanked Mrs Rimbolt for a very pleasantvisit. 

Scarfe, taking farewell of Raby, begged that some time, later on, hemight come to see her again, but was quite unable to gather from herreply whether she desired it or not. Jeffreys wisely kept out of theway while the departures were taking place, despite Mrs Rimbolt'ssuggestion that he should be sent for to help the cabman carry out theboxes. 

The first evening after they were all gone the house seemed anotherplace. Even Jeffreys felt he could breathe, despite Mr Rimbolt'sabsence, and the hostile proximity of his lady. 

As to Raby and Percy, they made no concealment of the relief they felt, and went off for a row on the river to celebrate the occasion. 

Jeffreys judiciously excused himself from accompanying them, and went along walk by himself. 

Two days later, after lunch, just as Percy and Raby had departed for aride in the park, and Jeffreys had shut himself up in Mr Rimbolt'sstudy to write, a letter was delivered by the post addressed to MrsRimbolt, bearing the Oxford post-mark. It was from Scarfe, and MrsRimbolt opened her eyes as she perused it:--

"Christchurch, _April_ 2. "

Dear Mrs Rimbolt, --I reached here from home this morning, and hasten tosend you a line to thank you for the very pleasant visit I spent inLondon last week. I should have written sooner, but that I was anxiousto write you on another and less pleasant subject, which I felt shouldnot be done hurriedly. You will, I dare say, blame me for not havingtold you earlier what I now feel it my duty to tell, and I trust youwill understand the feelings which have prevented my doing so. JohnJeffreys, who is in Mr Rimbolt's employment, is, as you know, an oldschoolfellow of mine. I was surprised to see him at Wildtree lastChristmas, and took the trouble to inquire whether he had come to youwith a character, or whether you had any knowledge of his antecedents. I imagined you had not, and supposed that, as he was only engaged as alibrarian, inquiries as to his character were not considered necessary. But when I saw that he was being admitted as a member of your household, and specially allowed to exercise an influence on Percy, I assure you Ifelt uncomfortable, and it has been on my mind ever since to tell youwhat I feel you ought to know. Jeffreys ran away from school aftercommitting a cruel act which, to all intents and purposes, was murder. His victim was a small boy whom we all loved, and who never did himharm. The details of the whole affair are too horrible to dwell uponhere, but I have said enough to show you what sort of person it is whois at present entrusted with the care of your own son, and allowed toassociate on a footing of equality with your niece, Miss Atherton. Ican assure you it is very painful to me to write this, for I know how itwill shock you. But I feel my conscience would not give me peace till Itold you all. May I now ask one special favour from you? It is wellknown, and you probably have noticed it yourself, that Jeffreys and Inaturally dislike one another. But I want you to believe that I writethis, not because I dislike Jeffreys, but because I like you all, andfeel that Percy particularly is in peril. What I ask is that if youthink it right to take any action in the matter, my name may not bementioned. It would be considered an act of spite on my part, which itis not; and perhaps I may mention to you that I have special reasons forwishing that Miss Atherton, at least, should not think worse of me thanI deserve. She would certainly misunderstand it if my name werementioned. I feel I have only done my duty, and I assure you it will bea great relief to me to know that you are rid of one who cannot fail toexercise a fatal influence on the pure and honest mind of my friendPercy. 

"Believe me, dear Mrs Rimbolt, most sincerely yours, --

"E. Scarfe. "

The shock which this astounding communication gave to Mrs Rimbolt canbe more easily imagined than described. It explained everything--herinstinctive dislike of the man from the first, his moroseness andinsolence, and the cunning with which he had insinuated himself firstinto her husband's and then into Percy's confidence! How blind she hadbeen not to see it all before! She might have known that he was avillain! Now, however, her duty was clear, and she would be wicked ifshe delayed to act upon it a moment. If Mr Rimbolt had been at home, it would have fallen on him to discharge it, but he was not, and shemust do it for him. 

Whereupon this worthy matron girded herself for the fray, and stalkedoff to the study. 

Jeffreys was busy transcribing some bibliographical notes which he hadbrought away with him from Exeter. The work was not very engrossing, and he had leisure now and then to let his mind wander, and thedirection his thoughts took was towards Mr Rimbolt's little plan of arun on the Continent for Percy and himself this summer. Jeffreys hadbeen afraid to acknowledge to himself how much the plan delighted him. He longed to see the everlasting snows, and the lakes, and the grand oldmediaeval cities, and the prospect of seeing them with Percy, away fromall that could annoy or jar--

He had got so far when the door opened, and Mrs Rimbolt stood beforehim. 

The lady was pale, and evidently agitated beyond her wont. She stoodfor a moment facing Jeffreys, and apparently waiting for words. Thelibrarian's back went up in anticipation. If it was more about Raby, hewould leave the room before he forgot himself. 

"Mr Jeffreys, " said the lady, and her words came slowly and hoarsely, "I request you to leave this house in half an hour. "

It was Jeffreys' turn to start and grow pale. 

"May I ask why?" he said. 

"You know why, sir, " said the lady. "You have known why ever since youhad the meanness to enter Wildtree on false pretences. "

"Really, Mrs Rimbolt, " began Jeffreys, with a cold shudder passingthrough him, "I am at a loss--"

"Don't speak to me, sir! You knew you had no right to enter the houseof honest, respectable people--you knew you had no right to takeadvantage of an accident to insinuate yourself into this family, andimpose upon the unsuspecting good-nature of my husband. No one askedyou for your character; for no one imagined you could be quite sohypocritical as you have been. You, the self-constituted friend andprotector of my precious boy--you, with the stain of blood on your handsand the mark of Cain on your forehead! Leave my house at once; I desireno words. You talked grandly about claiming to be protected from insultin this house. It is we who claim to be protected from a hypocrite anda murderer! Begone; and consider yourself fortunate that instead ofwalking out a free man, you are not taken out to the punishment youdeserve!"

When Jeffreys, stunned and stupefied, looked up, the room was empty. 

Mechanically he finished a sentence he had been writing, then lettingthe pen drop from his hand, sat where he was, numbed body and soul. Mrs Rimbolt's words dinned in his ears, and with them came those oldhaunting sounds, the yells on the Bolsover meadows, the midnight shriekof the terrified boy, the cold sneer of his guardian, the brutal laughof Jonah Trimble. All came back in one confused hideous chorus, yellingto him that his bad name was alive still, dogging him down, down, mocking his foolish dreams of deliverance and hope, hounding him outinto the night to hide his head indeed, but never to hide himself fromhimself. 

How long he sat there he knew not. When he rose he was at least calmand resolved. 

He went up to his own room and looked through his little stock ofpossessions. The old suit in which he had come to Wildtree was there;and an impulse seized him to put it on in exchange for the trim garmentshe was wearing. Of his other goods and chattels he took a few specialfavourites. His Homer--Julius's collar--a cricket cap--a pocket compasswhich Percy had given him, and an envelope which Raby had once directedto him for her uncle. His money--his last quarter's salary--he tooktoo, and his old stick which he had cut in the lanes near Ash Cottage. That was all. Then quietly descending the deserted stairs, and lookingneither to the right hand nor the left, he crossed the hall and openedthe front door. 

A pang shot through him as he did so. Was he never to see Percy again, or _her_? What would they think of him?

The thought maddened him; and as he stood in the street he seemed tohear their voices, too, in the awful clamour, and rushed blindly forth, anywhere, to escape it. 

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. 

A PLUNGE DOWNWARD. 

A chill October squall was whistling through the trees--in Regent'sPark, stirring up the fallen leaves on the footpaths, and making thenursemaids, as they listlessly trundled their perambulators, shiversuddenly, and think of the nursery fire and the singing kettle on thehob. The gathering clouds above sent the park-keeper off to his shedfor a waterproof, and emptied the carriage-drive of the vehicles inwhich a few semi-grand people were taking an afternoon airing at half acrown an hour. A little knot of small boys, intently playing football, with piled-up jackets for goals, and an old parti-coloured "bouncer" fora ball, were the last to take alarm at the lowering sky; nor was it tillthe big drops fell in their midst that they scattered right and left, and left the park empty. 

No; not quite empty. One young man sat on through the rain on the seatfrom which he had been watching the boys' game. A shabby, almost raggedyoung man, with a disagreeable face and an almost contemptuous curl ofthe lips, as the rain, gathering force every second, buffeted him in theface and drenched him where he sat. There were a hundred seats moresheltered than that on which he sat, and by walking scarcely fifty yardshe could have escaped the rain altogether. But he sat recklessly on, and let the rain do its worst, his eyes still on the empty footballfield, and his ears ringing still with the merry shouts of the departedboys. 

My reader, had he chanced to pass down that deserted walk on this stormyafternoon, would hardly have recognised in the lonely occupant of thatseat the John Jeffreys he had seen six months ago at Clarges Street. Itwas not merely that he looked haggard and ill, or that his clothes wereragged. That was bad enough, but the reader has seen him in such aplight before. But what he has not seen before--or if at all, only inpassing moments--is the bitter, hard look on his face, changing itmiserably. A stranger passing him that afternoon would have said--

"There sits a man who hates all the world. "

We, who know him better, would have said--

"There sits our poor dog with a bad name, deserted even by hope. "

And so it was. 

Jeffreys had left Clarges Street smarting under a sense of injury, butstill resolved to keep up the fight for his good name, in which for somany months past he had been engaged. 

Not by appealing to Mr Rimbolt. Although he knew, had Mr Rimbolt beenat home, all this would not have happened, his pride forbade him now totake a single step to reinstate himself in a house from which he hadbeen so ignominiously expelled. No, not even when that house heldwithin its walls Percy and Raby. The idea of going back filled him withhorror. 

On the contrary, he would hide himself from them, even though theysought to find him; and not till his name was as good as theirs would hesee them again or come near them. 

Which surely was another way of resolving never to see them again; forthe leopard cannot change his spots or the Ethiopian his skin! A badname is a stain which no washing can efface; it clings wherever you go, and often men who see it see nothing else in you but the scar. 

So thought poor Jeffreys as he slowly turned his back on all that wasdear to him in life, and went out into the night of the unsympatheticcity. 

At first, as I said, he tried to hold up his head. He inquired in oneor two quarters for work. But the question always came up--

"What is your character?"

"I have none, " he would say doggedly. 

"Why did you leave your last place?"

"I was turned away. "

"What for?"

"Because I am supposed to have killed a boy once. "

Once indeed he did get a temporary job at a warehouse--as a porter--andfor a week, a happy week, used his broad back and brawny arms incarrying heavy loads and lifting weights. Hope sprang again within himas he laboured. He might yet, by beginning at the lowest step, riseabove his evil name and conquer it. 

Alas! One day a shilling was lost from the warehouseman's desk. Jeffreys had been seen near the place and was suspected. He resentedthe charge scornfully at first, then savagely, and in an outbreak ofrage struck his accuser. He was impeached before the head of the firm, and it was discovered that he had come without a character. That wasenough. He was bundled out of the place at five minutes' notice, with athreat of a policeman if he made it six. And even when a week later theshilling was found in the warehouseman's blotting-paper, no one doubtedthat the cashiered rogue was as cunning as he was nefarious. 

After that he had given up what seemed the farce of holding up his head. What was the use, he said, when, as sure as night follows day, that badname of his dogged him wherever he went?

So Jeffreys began to go down. In after years he spoke very little ofthose six months in London, and when he did it was about people he hadmet, and not about himself. What he did, where he lodged, how he lived, these were matters he never mentioned and never liked to be asked about. 

I am quite sure myself that the reason of this silence was not shame. He was not one of those fellows who revenge themselves on fate bydeliberately going to the bad. At his worst, he had no taste for viceor any affinity for it. He may have sunk low, not because he himselfwas low, but because in his miserable feud with all the world he scornednot to share the lot of others as miserable as himself. 

His money--he had a few pounds when he left Clarges Street--soon failedhim. He made no great effort to keep it, and was relieved to see theend of it. His companions in misery soon helped him away with it, andhe let them. 

But when it was gone the old necessity for work came back. By day hehardly ever ventured out of his court, for fear of being seen by someone who would attempt to rescue him from his present condition. Atnight he wandered restlessly about in the narrow streets picking up anearly morning job at Covent Garden or in the omnibus stables. 

He moved his lodgings incessantly, one week inhabiting a garret inWestminster, another sharing a common room in Whitechapel, another doingwithout lodgings altogether. He spoke little or not at all to hisfellow-miserables, not because he despised them, but because they foughtshy of him. They disliked his superior ways and his ill-concealeddisgust of their habits and vices. They could have forgiven him forbeing a criminal in hiding; that they were used to. But a man who spokelike a gentleman, who took no pleasure in their low sports, and sat dumbwhile they talked loud and broad, seemed to them an interloper and anintruder. 

Once--it was about the beginning of August--in a lodging-house acrossthe river, he met a man to whom for a day or two he felt drawn. Hisstory was a sad one. His father had been a gentleman, and the boy hadbeen brought up in luxury and virtue. While at school his father haddied, and before he had left school his mother had been married again toa brute who not only broke her heart, but, after setting himself tocorrupt his stepson, had at last turned him adrift without a penny inthe world. The lad, with no strong principle to uphold him, had sunkdeep in vice. Yet there lurked about him occasional flashes ofsomething better. 

"After all, " he would say to Jeffreys, as the two lay at night almost onbare boards, "what's the odds? I may be miserable one day, but I'mjolly the next. Now you seem to prefer to be uniformly miserable. "

"Hardly a case of preference, " said Jeffreys; "but I'm not sure that itwouldn't be more miserable to be jolly. "

"Try it. You'd give a lot to forget all about everything for an hour, wouldn't you?"

"It would be pleasant. "

"You can do it. "

"By dropping asleep?"

"Sleep! That's the time I'm most miserable. I remember the old daysthen, and my mother, and--I say, Jeffreys, I was once nearly drowned atEton. Just as I was going down for the last time I put up my hand, anda fellow saw it and came in and fished me out. What a born fool I wasto do it! I was grateful to the fellow at the time. I hate him now!"

And the poor fellow, with all the manhood out of him, cried himself tosleep; and Jeffreys in mercy said not a word to stop him. 

A pitiful sort of friendship sprung up between the two--the bitterstrong one, and the vicious weak one. It kept a soft corner inJeffreys' heart to find some one who held to him even in thisdegradation, and to the poor prodigal it was worth anything to have someone to talk to. 

Coming home one wet morning from one of his nocturnal expeditions, Jeffreys found his fellow-lodger up, with a bottle in his hands. 

"My boy, my boy, " cried the lad, "you're in luck, and just in time. Whosays I'm lost to all decency after this? Why, I might have hidden itaway when I heard you coming up. No. There's something of the noblemanleft in me yet. Half of this is yours, Jeffreys; only help yourselfquickly, man, or I may repent. "

He held out the bottle tremblingly and with a wince that spoke volumes. 

"Take it. I never went halves before, and perhaps I never shall again. "

Jeffreys took the bottle. It was brandy. 

"Half a tumbler of that, Jeffreys, will make another man of you. Itwill send you into dreamland. You'll forget there is such a thing asmisery in the world. Don't be squeamish, old fellow. You're cold andweak, you know you are; you ought to take it. You're not too good, surely--eh? Man alive, if you never do anything worse than take a dropof brandy, you'll pass muster. Come, I say, you're keeping me waiting. "

Jeffreys sunk on a chair, and raised the bottle half-way to his lips. 

What was it, as he did so, which flashed before his eyes and caused himsuddenly to set it down and rise to his feet?

Nothing real, it is true, yet nothing new. Just a momentary glimpse ofa boy's pale face somewhere in the dim gloom of that little room, andthen all was as before. Yet to Jeffreys the whole world was suddenlyaltered. 

He set the bottle down, and neither heeding nor hearing theexpostulations of his companion, he left the house never to return. 

That night he slept in another part of the town; and the poor bewilderedprodigal, deserted by his only friend, cried half the night through, andcursed again the Eton boy who had once saved his life. 

Jeffreys, hidden in another part of the great city, sunk to a lowerdepth of misery than ever. To him it seemed now that his bad name hadtaken form in the face of young Forrester, and was dogging him inadversity more relentlessly even than in prosperity. It comforted himnot at all to think it had saved him from a drunkard's ruin. Hedespised himself, when he came to himself, for having been scared soweakly. Yet he avoided his old quarters, and turned his back on the onefriend he had, rather than face his evil genius again. 

His evil genius! Was he blinded then, that he saw in all this nothingbut evil and despair? Was he so numbed that he could not feel aFather's hand leading him even through the mist? Had he forgotten thattwo little boys far away were praying for him? Had he ceased to feelthat young Forrester himself might be somewhere, not far away, ready toforgive?

He was blinded, and could see nothing through the mists. 

He half envied his new fellow-lodgers in the den at Ratcliff. Four ofthem, at least, stood a chance of being hanged. Yet they managed toshake off care and live merrily. 

"Come, old gallus, " said one young fellow, who in that place was thehero of a recent "mystery" in the West End, "perk up. You're safeenough here. Don't be down. We're all in the same boat. Save up themlong faces for eight o'clock in the morning at Old Bailey. Don't spoilour fun. "

It was half pathetic, this appeal; and Jeffreys for a day tried to becheerful. But he could not do it, and considerately went somewhereelse. 

How long was it to go on? A time came when he could get no work, andstarvation stared him in the face. But a dying boy bequeathed him aloaf, and once again he was doomed to live. 

But a loaf, and the proceeds of a week's odd jobs, came to an end. Andnow once more, as he sits in the rain in Regent's Park, he facessomething more than the weather. He has not tasted food for two wholedays, and for all he knows may never taste it again. 

So he sits there, with his eyes still on that football ground, and hisears ringing still with the merry shouts of the departed boys. 

The scene changes as he stays on. It is a football field still, but notthe brown patch in a London park. There are high trees, throwingshadows across the green turf, and in the distance an old red school-house. And the boys are no longer the lively London urchins with theirred, white, and blue bouncer. They are in flannels, and their faces arefamiliar, and the names they call each other he knows. Nor is the gamethe same. It, like the London boys' game, has ended suddenly, but notin a helter-skelter stampede in the rain. No. It is a silent, awe-struck group round something on the ground; and as he, Jeffreys, elbowshis way among them, he sees again a boy's face lying there pallid andperhaps lifeless. Then instinctively he lifts his hands to his ears. For a howl rises on all sides which deafens him, stuns him. 

After all, it is only the last effort of the October squall in Regent'sPark buffeting him with a fusillade of rain and withered leaves. Hetakes his hands from his ears, and with a sigh gets up and walks away, he cares not whither. 

His steps lead him round the park and into the long avenue. The rainand the wind are dying down, and already a few wayfarers, surprised bythe sudden storm, are emerging from their shelters and speeding home. The park-keeper boldly parades the path in his waterproof, as if he hadbraved the elements since daybreak. A nursemaid draws out herperambulator from under the trees and hastens with it and its wailingoccupant nursery-wards. And there, coming to meet him, sheltered underone umbrella, are two who perhaps have no grudge against the storm fordetaining them in their walk that afternoon. 

It is long since Jeffreys has seen anything to remind him of the worldhe has left, but there is something about these two as they advancetowards him, their faces hidden by the umbrella, which attracts him. The youth is slim and well-dressed, and holds himself well; hiscompanion's figure reminds him of a form he knew--can it be only sixmonths ago?--light, gentle, courageous, beside which he has walked inthe Wildtree Park and on the London pavements. Ah, how changed now!

Where, he wonders, is _she_ now? and what is she thinking of him, if shethinks of him at all?

They meet--the tramp and the young couple. They never heed him; howshould they? But a turn of the umbrella gives him a momentary glimpseof them, and in that glimpse poor hapless Jeffreys recognises Raby andScarfe! Surely this blow was not needed to crush him completely!Scarfe! How long he stood, statue-like, looking down the path by whichthey had gone neither he nor any one else could tell. But it was darkwhen he was roused by a harsh voice in front of him. 

"Come, sheer off, young fellow! It's time you was out of the park!"

"Yes, I'll go, " said he, and walked slowly to the gate. 

It was ridiculous of him, of course, to writhe as he did under thatchance meeting. What else could he have expected? A hundred timesalready he had told himself she had forgotten all about him, or, worsestill, she remembered him only to despise him. And a hundred times, too, he had seen her in fancy beside the enemy who had stabbed him. 

For Scarfe might have spared his precaution in begging Mrs Rimbolt notto name him as Jeffreys' accuser. Jeffreys needed no telling to whom heowed his ruin, and he needed no telling the reason why. 

That reason had made itself clear this afternoon, at any rate, and asthe wretched outcast wandered out into the night, it seemed as if theone ray of light which yesterday had glimmered for him, even across thedarkness, was now quenched for ever, and that there was nothing lefteither to hope or dread. 

He could not quit the park, but wandered round and round it, outside itsinhospitable palings, covering mile after mile of wet pavement, heedlessof the now drenching rain, heedless of his hunger, heedless of hisfailing limbs. 

The noisy streets had grown silent, and a clock near at hand had strucktwo when he found himself on the little bridge which crosses the canal. It was too dark to see the water below, but he heard the hard rainhissing on its surface. 

He had stood there before, in happier days, and wondered how men andwomen could choose, as they sometimes did, to end their misery in thatnarrow streak of sluggish water. 

He wondered less now. Not that he felt tempted to follow them; in hislowest depths of misery that door of escape had never allured him. Yetas he stood he felt fascinated, and even soothed, by the ceaseless noiseof the rain on the invisible water beneath. It seemed almost like thevoice of a friend far away. 

He had been listening for some time, crouched in a dark corner of theparapet, when he became aware of footsteps approaching. 

Imagining at first they were those of a policeman coming to dislodge thetramp from his lurking-place, he prepared to get up and move on. Butlistening again he remained where he was. 

The footsteps were not those of a policeman. They approached fitfully, now quickly, now slowly, now stopping still for a moment or two, yetthey were too agitated for those of a drunkard, and too uncertain forthose of a fugitive from justice. 

As they drew near to the bridge they stopped once more, and Jeffreys, peering through the darkness, saw a form clutching the railings, andlooking down in the direction of the water. Then a voice groaned, "Ohmy God!" and the footsteps hurried on. 

Jeffreys had seen misery in many forms go past him before, but somethingimpelled him now to rise and follow the footsteps of this wanderer. 

The plashing rain drowned every sound, and it was with difficulty thatJeffreys, weak and weary as he was, could keep pace with the figureflitting before him, for after that glance over the bridge the fugitiveno longer halted in his pace, but went on rapidly. 

Across the bridge he turned and followed the high banks of the canal. Then he halted, apparently looking for a way down. It was a longimpatient search, but at last Jeffreys saw him descend along somerailings which sloped down the steep grass slope almost to the towing-path. 

Jeffreys followed with difficulty, and when at last he stood on thetowing-path the fugitive was not to be seen, nor was it possible to saywhether he had turned right or left. 

Jeffreys turned to the right, and anxiously scanning both the bank andthe water, tramped along the muddy path. 

A few yards down he came upon a heap of stones piled up across the path. Any one clambering across this must have made noise enough to be heardtwenty yards away, and, as far as he could judge in the darkness, no onehad stepped upon it. He therefore turned back hurriedly and retracedhis steps. 

The sullen water, hissing still under the heavy rain, gave no sign as heran along its edge and scanned it with anxious eyes. 

The high bank on his left, beyond the palings, became inaccessible frombelow. The wanderer must, therefore, be before him on the path. 

For five minutes he ran on, straining his eyes and ears, when suddenlyhe stumbled. It was a hat upon the path. 

In a moment Jeffreys dived into the cold water. As he came to thesurface and looked round there was nothing but the spreading circles ofhis own plunge to be seen; but a moment afterwards, close to the bank, he had a glimpse of something black rising for an instant and thendisappearing. Three strokes brought him to the spot just as the objectrose again. 

To seize it and strike out for the bank was the work of a moment. Theman--for it was he--was alive, and as Jeffreys slowly drew him from thewater he opened his eyes and made a faint resistance. 

"Let me go!" he said with an oath; "let me go!"

But his head fell heavily on his rescuer's shoulder while he spoke, andwhen at last he lay on the path he was senseless. 

Jeffreys carried him to the shelter of an arch, and there did what hecould to restore animation. It was too dark to see the man's face, buthe could feel his pulse still beating, and presently he gave a sigh andmoved his head. 

"What did you do it for?" he said piteously. 

Jeffreys started. He knew the voice, hoarse and choked as it was. 

"What's your name?" he said, raising the form in his arms and trying tosee the face. "Who are you?"

"I've got no name! Why couldn't you let me be?"

"Isn't your name Trimble--Jonah Trimble?"

The poor fellow lifted his head with a little shriek. 

"Oh, don't give me up! Don't have me taken up! Help me!"

"I will help you all I can, Trimble. "

"Why, you know me, then?--you're--Who are you?"

"I'm John Jeffreys. "

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. 

AN ANGEL UNAWARES. 

In a wretched garret of a house in Storr Alley, near Euston, at thesick-bed of his old enemy, Jeffreys reached a turning-point in his life. How he conveyed the half-drowned Jonah on the night of the rescue fromthe canal bank to his lodgings he scarcely knew. 

The hand of a friend is often near when it is least expected. So Jonahhad found, when he believed all hope and life to be gone; and soJeffreys had found, when, with his poor burden in his arms, he met, beside a barge at daybreak, a dealer in vegetables for whom he hadsometimes worked at Covent Garden, and who now, like a Good Samaritan, not only gave the two a lift in his cart, but provided Jeffreys with anopportunity of earning a shilling on the way. 

This shilling worked marvels. For both Trimble and Jeffreys were on theverge of starvation; and without food that night rescue would have beenbut a farce. 

It was soon evident that Jonah had far more the matter with him than themere effects of his immersion. He was a wreck, body and soul. Thedispensary doctor who called to see him gave him a fortnight to live, and the one or two brave souls who penetrated, on errands of mercy, eveninto Storr Alley, marked his hollow cough and sunken cheeks, and knewthat before long one name more would drop out of their lists. 

It was slowly, and in fragments only, that Jeffreys heard his story. Jonah was for ever reproaching him with what had happened on the canalbank. 

"Why couldn't you have left a fellow alone? I know, you wanted to gloatover me. Go on, be as happy as you like. Enjoy your revenge. I didyou a bad turn; now you've done me one, so we're quits!"

Here a fit of coughing would shake the breath out of the sufferer, andit would be a minute or two before he could proceed. 

Jeffreys wisely avoided all expostulations or self-excuse. He smoothedthe poor fellow's pillow, and supported him in his arms till the coughwas over and he could proceed. "It was a bad day you ever came to ourschool, John"--Jonah had adopted the name by which Jeffreys was known inStorr Alley--"I hated you the first time I saw you. You've got thelaugh on your side now; but I can tell you you wouldn't have had it thenif you knew the way I followed you up. Yes"--and here came a shadow ofhis own sinister smile--"I made it all fit in like a puzzle. Did younever miss a letter you had that day you called at the York post-office--a letter about the dead burying their dead, and young Forrester?oh yes, you may start; I know all about it. I took that letter out ofyour pocket. And I know where you buried his body; do you suppose Ididn't see you throw yourself on the very place and say, `It was here'?You held your nose in the air, didn't you, in the school, and palmedyourself off on Freddy and Teddy for a model? But I bowled you out. Ishowed you up. That was the day of my laugh. Now you've got yours. "

The cough again stopped him; and when he recovered his breath Jeffreyssaid quietly--

"Don't talk, Jonah; you bring on your cough. Let me read to you. "

Then for the remainder of that day the story would rest; till later onJonah would abruptly return to it. 

"Mother believed in you, and cried a whole day after you had gone. Yes, and you'll be glad to hear the school broke up all to pieces. FarmerRosher took away his boys and spread a report about us; and at the endof a month we had scarcely a dozen urchins. Mother and I lived like catand dog. I struck work, and she had to do everything, and it broke herup. It would never have happened if you hadn't come into the place. Icouldn't live there any longer. Mother had a little bit saved, fiftypounds or so, and one night, after we had had a terrible row, I tookevery penny of it out of her money-box and came up to London. Now areyou pleased? Hadn't she something to bless you for? I say, John, getus some water quick, I'm parched!"

On another day Jeffreys heard the rest. 

"I came up to London, but it wasn't the fun I expected. Everybody I metI thought was a detective, and all night long I dreamed of my mother. Itried to drown it, and lived as wild a life as you like till my moneywas done. Then it would have been worth your while to see me. Everybody was against me. Fellows I'd stood treat to kicked me out intothe street, and fellows who owed me money laughed in my face. I thoughtI'd go back to York after all and get mother to take me back; but when Icame to start I couldn't face it. That's all. I stood it as long as Icould. I pawned everything, and when that was done I stole--and gotthree months on the treadmill. How do you like that? When I got out, acity missionary heard of me and found me a job; but I stole again, andran away. You wouldn't have thought I had it in me at York, would you?I was a respectable young fellow there. But it was all there; and itwas you brought it all out. Last week I made up my mind to put an endto it all. It took me a struggle to face it; but I was settled to doit--and then, as if you hadn't done enough harm, you come and spoil mylast chance. "

"Not your last chance, Jonah. "

"No. I've a week more to live. Then you'll be rid of me. Who's tosave me then?"

"Some one, Jonah. We have both forgotten Him, but He's not forgottenus. "

"Oh yes, I know, " said Jonah; "but it's all very well for you, who'vegot years to get right in. It's too short notice for me to begin allthat over again. I don't want to hear about it. "

He lingered on day after day, and it was absolutely necessary forJeffreys to go and seek work in order to keep even that wretched roofabove their heads. 

One evening when he returned with a few coppers, Jonah met him with aface brighter than any that he had yet seen. 

"I've had some one here to-day. A better sort than you. One that's gota right to talk about what's better. A lady, John, or else an angel. Did _you_ send her?"

"I? No; I know no ladies. "

"I don't know how it was, I could tell her anything--and, I say, John, it would make you cry to hear her voice. It did me. _You_ never mademe cry, or saw me; I hate to hear _you_ preach; but she--why, shedoesn't preach at all, but she says all you've got to say a hundredtimes better. "

He was excited and feverish that night, and in his sleep murmured scrapsof the gentle talk of his ministering angel, which even from his lipsfell with a reflected sweetness on the trouble-tossed spirit of thewatcher. 

Jeffreys had succeeded in getting a temporary job which took him awayduring the next two days. But each night on his return he found hisinvalid brighter and softened in spirit by reason of his angel's visits. 

"She'll come to-morrow, John. There's magic in her, I tell you. I seethings I never saw before. You've been kind to me, John, and given up alot for me, but if you were to hear her--"

Here the dying youth could get no farther. 

He seemed much the same in the morning when Jeffreys started for work. The last words he said as his friend departed were--

"She's coming again to-day. "

When Jeffreys came home in the evening the garret was silent, and on thebed lay all that remained on earth of the poor wrecked life which hadbeen so strangely linked with his own. 

As he stood over the lifeless body his eyes fell on a scrap of paperlying on the pillow. It was folded and addressed in pencil, "To thefellow-lodger. "

Jeffreys caught it eagerly, and in a turmoil of agitation read the fewlines within. 

"Your friend was not alone when he died, peacefully, this afternoon. Heleft a message for you. `Tell him he was right when he told me I had achance. If it had not been for him I should have lost it. ' He alsosaid, `Some day he may see mother and tell her about me. Tell her Idied better than I lived. ' Dear friend, whose name I do not know, don'tlose heart. God is merciful, and will be your friend when every oneelse is taken from you. "

It was not the words of this touching little message from the dead whichbrought a gasp to Jeffreys' throat and sent the colour from his cheeksas he read it. The writing, hasty and agitated as it was, was a hand hehad seen before. He had in his pocket an envelope, well-worn now, addressed to him months ago in the same writing, and as he held the twoside by side he knew Raby had written both. 

He quitted the garret hurriedly, and entered the room of a family offive who lived below him. 

"Mrs Pratt, " said he to the ragged woman who sat nursing her baby inthe corner, "did you see who Trimble had with him when he died?"

"He's dead, then, sir"--these fellow-lodgers of Jeffreys called him"sir" in spite of his misery. "I knew that cough couldn't last. MyAnnie's begun with it: she'll go too. It's been hard enough to keep thechildren, but it will be harder to lose them!" she cried. 

Jeffreys went to the bed where the little consumptive girl lay in arestless sleep, breathing heavily. 

"Poor little Annie!" said he; "I did not know she was so ill. "

"How could you? Yes, I saw the lady come down--a pretty wee thing. Shecomes and goes here. Maybe when she hears of Annie she'll come to her. "

"Do you know her name?"

"No. She's a lady, they say. I heard her singing upstairs to Trimble;it was a treat! So Trimble's dead. You'll be glad of some help, Iexpect? If you'll mind the children, Mr John, I'll go up and do thebest we can for the poor fellow. "

And so Jeffreys, with the baby in his arms, sat beside the littleinvalid in that lonely room, while the mother, putting aside her ownsorrows, went up and did a woman's service where it was most needed. Next day he had the garret to himself. That letter--how he treasuredit!--changed life for him. He had expected, when Jonah's illness ended, to drift back once more into the bitterness of despair. But that wasimpossible now. 

He made no attempt to see the angel of whose visits to the alley he nowand again heard. Indeed, whether he was in work or not, he left earlyand came back late on purpose to avoid a meeting. He had long beenknown by his neighbours only as John, so that there was no chance of herdiscovering who he was. Sometimes the memory of that October day inRegent's Park came up to haunt him and poison even the comfort of thelittle letter. Yet why should she not have forgotten him? and whyshould not Scarfe, the man with a character, be more to her than he, theman with none? Yet he tried bravely to banish all, save the one thoughtthat it _was_ she who bade him hope and take courage. 

He worked well and patiently at the temporary manual labour on which hewas employed, and when that came to an end he looked about resolutelyfor more. 

Meanwhile--do not smile, reader--he made an investment of capital! Inother words, he spent threepence in pen, ink, paper, and a candle, andspent one night in his lonely garret writing. It was a letter, addressed to a stranger, on a public question. In other words, it wasan article to a London paper on, "Life in a Slum, by One who LivesThere. " It was a quiet, unsensational paper, with some practicalsuggestions for the improvement of poor people's dwellings, and a fewtrue stories of experiences in which the writer himself had taken apart. 

He dropped it doubtfully into the editor's box and tried to forget aboutit. He dared not look at the paper next day, and when two days passedand he heard nothing, he concluded that the bolt had missed fire. 

But it was not so. A week later, the postman entered Storr Alley--anunheard-of event--and left a letter. It contained a money order for tenshillings, and read:--

"The editor encloses ten shillings for the letter on Slum Life, contributed by Mr John to the paper of the 23rd. He can take two moreon the same subject at the same terms, and suggests that Mr John shoulddeal specially with--" And here the editor gave an outline of the topicson which the public would be most likely to desire information. 

With overflowing heart, and giving Raby the credit, he sat down andwrote the two articles. 

His first half-sovereign went in a deed of mercy. Little Annie lay deadin her bed the night it arrived. Jeffreys that morning, before hestarted to work, had watched the little spark of life flicker for thelast time and go out. The mother, worn-out by her constant vigils, layill beside her dead child. The father, a drunkard, out of work, deserted the place, and the two other children, the baby, and the sisterscarcely more than baby, wailed all day for cold and hunger. What couldhe do but devote the first-fruits of his pen to these companions indistress? The half-sovereign sufficed for the child's funeral, with alittle over for the sick mother. For the rest, he took the baby to hisown garret for a night or two, and tended it there as best he could. 

The two fresh letters to the paper in due time brought a sovereign; butat the same time a chilling notification to the effect that the editordid not need further contributions, and would let Mr John know if atany future time he required his services. 

It was the abrupt closing of one door of promise. Still Jeffreys, withhope big within him, did not sit and fret. 

Literary work might yet be had, and meanwhile bodily labour must beendured. 

Towards the beginning of December, any one taking up one of the Londonpenny papers might have observed, had he been given to the study of suchmatters, three advertisements. Here they are in their proper order:--

"Should this meet the eye of John Jeffreys, late private secretary to agentleman in Cumberland, he is earnestly requested to communicate withhis friend and late employer. "

Readers of the agony column were getting tired of this advertisement. It had appeared once a week for the last six months, and was gettingstale by this time. 

The next advertisement was more recent, but still a trifle dull:--

"Gerard Forrester. 

"If Gerard Forrester (son of the late Captain Forrester, of the--Hussars) who was last heard of at Bolsover School, in October, 18--, where he met with a serious accident, should see this, he is requestedto communicate with Messrs. Wilkins & Wilkins, Solicitors, Blank Street, W. C. , from whom he will hear something to his advantage. Any personable to give satisfactory information leading to the discovery of thesaid Gerard Forrester, or, in the event of his death, producing evidenceof his decease, will be liberally rewarded. "

The third advertisement, in another column, appeared now for the firsttime:--

"A young man, well educated, and a careful student of Bibliography, isanxious for literary work. Searches made and extracts copied. --Apply, J. , 28a, Storr Alley, W. C. "

It would have puzzled any ordinary observer to detect in these threeappeals anything to connect them together. Jeffreys, however, glancingdown the columns of the borrowed paper for a sight of his ownadvertisement, started and turned pale as his eye fell first on his ownname, then on Forrester's. 

It was like a conspiracy to bewilder and baffle him at the moment whenhope seemed to be returning. He had convinced himself that his onechance was to break with every tie which bound him to his old life, andto start afresh from the lowest step of all. And here, at the outset, there met him two calls from that old life, both of which it was hard toresist. Mr Rimbolt, he decided to resist at all hazards. He stillshuddered as he recalled the stiff rustle of a certain silk dress inClarges Street, and preferred his present privations a hundredfold. Even the thought of Percy, and the library, and Mr Rimbolt's goodness, could not efface that one overpowering impression. 

The other advertisement perplexed and agitated him more. Who was thisunknown person on whose behalf Messrs. Wilkins & Wilkins were seekinginformation respecting young Forrester? It might be Scarfe, or MrFrampton, or possibly some unheard-of relative, interested in thedisposal of the late gallant officer's effects. He could not assist thesearch. The little he knew was probably already known to the lawyers, yet it excited him wildly to think that some one besides himself was insearch of the lad whose memory had haunted him for so many months, andwhom, even in his most despairing moments, he had never quite given upfor lost. 

True, he had long since ceased to believe that he was really to be foundby searching. Everything combined to baffle search, almost to forbidit, and yet he had constantly lived in a vague expectation of finding orhearing of him some day accidentally and unawares. But thisadvertisement filled him with self-reproach. What right had he to doanything, to rest a day, till he had found this lost boy--lost by hisfault, by his sin? No wonder he had not prospered. No wonder the badname had haunted him and dragged him down! One thing was certain--whether what he knew was known to others or not, it was his duty to aidnow in this new search. So he wrote as follows to Messrs. Wilkins &Wilkins:--

"_Private and Confidential_. 

"The writer of this knew Gerard Forrester at Bolsover School two yearsago, and was responsible almost wholly for the accident referred to. The writer left Bolsover in consequence, and has not seen Forrestersince. In May of the following year he made inquiries at Grangerham, Forrester's native place, where he ascertained that the boy had beenremoved there from Bolsover and had remained for some time with hisgrandmother, Mrs Wilcox. Mrs Wilcox, however, was ordered to theSouth for her health, and died at Torquay. Forrester, who appears tohave been a cripple, and unable to help himself, was then left in chargeof his old nurse, who left Grangerham shortly afterwards, it is said, inorder to take the boy to a hospital--where, no one could say. That isthe last the writer heard. Messrs. W. & W. Might do well to apply tothe clergyman and Wesleyan minister at Grangerham, who may have somelater news. The writer would be thankful to be of any service inhelping to find one whom he has so terribly wronged; and any letteraddressed `J. , at Jones's Coffee-House, Drury Lane, ' will find him. 

"It should be said that when Forrester was last seen, only faint hopeswere held out as to his recovery, even as a cripple. "

An anxious time followed. It was hard to work as usual--harder still towait. The idea of Forrester being after all found took strangepossession of his mind, to the exclusion of all else. The prospectwhich had seemed to open before him appeared suddenly blocked; he couldthink of nothing ahead except that one possible meeting. 

So preoccupied was he, that his own advertisement for work was forgottenthe day after it appeared; and when two days later he found a letterpushed under the door, his heart leaped to his mouth with the convictionthat it could refer to nothing but the one object before him. It didnot; it was a reply to his advertisement. 

"J-- is requested to call to-morrow, at 10 a. M. , on Mr Trotter, 6, Porson Square, in reference to his advertisement for literary work. "

With some trepidation, and no particular expectations, Jeffreyspresented himself at the appointed time, and found himself face to facewith a testy little gentleman, with by no means large pretensions toliterary authority. 

He took in the shabby-looking advertiser at a glance, and suited histone accordingly. 

"So you're the chap, are you? You're the nice educated literary chapthat wants a job, eh?"

"I am. "

"What can you do? Write poetry?"

"I never tried. "

"Write 'istory, or 'igh hart, and that sort of thing?"

"I have not tried. I know mostly about bibliography. "

"Bibli--who? You'll turn your 'and to anything for a crust, I suppose. Do you ever do anything in the puff line?"

Jeffreys admitted he had not. 

"'Cos I want a chap to crack up my `Polyglot Pickle' in proper literarystyle. None of your commonplace maunderings, but something smart andstartling. What do you say? Can you do it or not?"

Jeffreys heart sank low. "I'll try--"

"Can you do it?" demanded the proud inventor. 

"Yes, " said Jeffreys desperately. 

"All right, " said Mr Trotter, greatly relieved. "I want a book oftwenty pages. Write anything you like, only bring the pickles in oneach page. You know the style. Twenty blood-curdling ballads, orAesop's fables, or something the public's bound to read. Somethingracy, mind, and all ending in the pickle. It's a good thing, so youneedn't be afraid of overdoing it. You shall have a bob a page, moneydown, or twenty-five bob for the lot if you let me have it this time to-morrow. Remember, nothing meek and mild. Lay it on thick. They're thebest thing going, and got a good name. Polyglot, that's many tongues;everybody tastes 'em. "

Jeffreys, with a dismal sense of the humour of the situation, acceptedhis noble task meekly, and sat down in Mr Trotter's back room with abottle of the pickles on the table before him. 

The reader shall be spared the rubbish he wrote. To this day he flaresup angrily if you so much as mention the Polyglot Pickle to him. 

The public, who laughed next week over the ridiculous bathos of thosetwenty loud-sounding ballads, little guessed the misery and disgust theyhad cost their author. 

The one part of the whole business that was not odious was that in sixhours Jeffreys had twenty-five shillings in his pocket; and to himtwenty-five shillings meant a clear week and more in which to devotehimself to the now all-absorbing task of seeking young Forrester. 

On his way back to Storr Alley that evening he called as usual at thecoffee-house, and found a further letter awaiting him:--

"Messrs. Wilkins & Wilkins will be much obliged if the writer of theletter of the sixth inst. Will favour them with a call on Wednesdayforenoon, as he may be able to assist them materially in the search inwhich they are engaged. Messrs. W. & W. Will treat an interview asconfidential. "

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. 

HIGH DUDGEON. 

Things had not been going well with Percy Rimbolt since we saw him last, six or eight months ago, just before Jeffreys' expulsion from the housein Clarges Street. Mrs Rimbolt had some reason to modify her self-congratulations on that occasion, when Percy and Raby, who, it will beremembered, had been out riding at the time, returned home. Percyreturned in high spirits; his new horse had turned out a beauty, and thecanter in the park had acted like a tonic. 

"Hullo, mother!" he said, as his parent came into the hall to meet him. "We've had a grand time, Raby and I. We saw the Prince of Wales andW. G. Grace, and the Queen, and everybody, and I gave Raby two hundredyards from the corner and ran her down before we were off Knightsbridge, and nearly got hauled up for furious riding. I say, I mean to makefather get a horse for old Jeff, and we'll go out early in the mornings, when the Row's empty, and try handicaps, eh, Raby? Where's Jeff, Isay?" and he ran whistling upstairs. 

His mother, with some premonitory misgivings followed him. 

"Where are you, Jeff?" she heard him shout. "I say, mother, " he added, as Mrs Rimbolt approached, "where's Jeff? Is he out?"

"He is, " said Mrs Rimbolt solemnly. "I want to speak to you, Percy. "

"All right. But I say, when will he be in? He said he couldn't leavehis work this afternoon. I want him to see Bendigo before he goes roundto the stables. "

"You had better tell the groom he need not wait, and then please come tomy room, Percy, " said Mrs Rimbolt. 

Percy shouted down to Walker to send away the horse, and followed hismother into her boudoir. 

"Percy, my dear boy, " began the lady, "I am sorry to say I have just hadto perform a very unpleasant duty. You can hardly understand--"

"What about--anything about Jeff?" interrupted the boy, jumping at thetruth. 

"It is. It has been necessary, for everybody's sake, that he shouldleave here. "

"What!" thundered Percy, turning pale and clutching the back of hischair; "you've sent Jeff away--kicked him out?"

"Come, Percy, don't be unreasonable. I--"

"When did he go--how long ago?" exclaimed the boy, half frantic. 

"Percy, you really--"

"How long ago?"

"It is more than an hour since--"

Percy waited to hear no more; he dashed down the stairs and shouted toWalker. 

"Did you see Jeffreys go? Which way did he go?"

"I didn't see--"

"Come and help me look for him, he's sure to be about. Tell Appleby, doyou hear? Raby, I say, " he exclaimed, as his cousin appeared in thehall, "Jeff's been kicked out an hour ago! I'm going to find him!" andthe poor lad, with a heart almost bursting, flung open the door andrushed out into the street. 

Alas! it was a fool's errand, and he knew it. Still, he could notendure to do nothing. 

After two weary hours he gave it up, and returned home dispirited andfurious. Walker and Appleby had taken much less time to appreciate theuselessness of the search, and had returned an hour ago from aperfunctory walk round one or two neighbouring streets. 

Our young Achilles, terrible in his wrath, would see no one, not evenhis mother, not even Raby. Once or twice that evening they heard thefront door slam, and knew he once more was on the look-out. MrsRimbolt, alarmed at the storm which she had raised, already repented ofher haste, and telegraphed to Mr Rimbolt to come to London. 

Raby, bewildered and miserable, shut herself up in her room and was seenby no one. It was a wretched night for everybody; and when next morningMrs Rimbolt, sitting down to breakfast, was met with the news thatneither Master Percy nor Miss Raby wanted breakfast, she began to feelthat the affair was being overdone. 

When Mr Rimbolt arrived, though he concealed his feelings better, hewas perhaps the most mortified of all at the wretched misadventure whichduring his absence had turned Jeffreys adrift beyond recall. He hadknown his secretary's secret, and had held it sacred even from his wife. And watching Jeffreys' brave struggle to live down his bad name, he hadgrown to respect and even admire him, and to feel a personal interest inthe ultimate success of his effort. Now, a miserable accident, which, had he been at home, could have been prevented by a word, had wreckedthe work and the hopes of years, and put beyond Mr Rimbolt's power allfurther chance of helping it on. 

About a week after Mr Rimbolt's return, when all but Percy werebeginning to settle down again into a semblance of their old order ofthings, Raby knocked at her uncle's door and inquired if he was busy. She looked happier than he had seen her since his return. The reasonwas easy to guess. The post had brought her a letter from her father. 

"I thought you would like to see it, " said she. "He has got leave atlast, and expects to be home at the end of September. Will you read theletter?" added she, colouring; "there's something else in it I shouldlike you to see. "

The letter was chiefly about the prospects of coming home. Towards theclose Lieutenant-Colonel Atherton (for he had got promotion) wrote:

"You ask me to tell you about poor Forrester and his family. "

"He had no wife alive, and when he died did not know what had become ofhis only son. The boy was at school in England--Bolsover School--andmet with an accident, caused, it is said, by the spite of aschoolfellow, which nearly killed him, and wholly crippled him. He wastaken home to his grandmother's, but after she died he disappeared, andpoor Forrester had been unable to hear anything about him. It is a sadstory. I promised Forrester when I got home I would do what I could tofind the boy and take care of him. You will help, won't you?"

Raby watched her uncle as he read the passage, and then asked, --

"I asked father to tell me something about the Forresters, uncle, because some one--it was Mr Scarfe--had told me that he believedCaptain Forrester was the father of an old schoolfellow of his atBolsover who had a bad accident. "

"Is that all he told you?" asked her uncle. 

"No, " said Raby, flushing; "he told me that Mr Jeffreys had been thecause of the accident. "

"That was so, " said Mr Rimbolt. "Sit down, child, and I'll tell youall about it. "

And her uncle told her what he had heard from Mr Frampton, and whatJeffreys had suffered in consequence; how he had struggled to atone forthe past, and what hopes had been his as to the future. Raby's faceglowed more and more as she listened. It was a different soldier's talefrom what she was used to; but still it moved her pity and sympathystrangely. 

"It's a sad story, as your father says, " concluded Mr Rimbolt; "but thesadness does not all belong to young Forrester. "

Raby's eyes sparkled. 

"No, indeed, " said she; "it is like shipwreck within sight of theharbour. "

"We can only hope there may be some hand to save him even from thesedepths, " said Mr Rimbolt; "for, from what I know of Jeffreys, he willfind it hard now to keep his head above water. Of course, Raby, I haveonly told you this because you have heard the story from another pointof view which does poor Jeffreys injustice. "

"I am so grateful to you, " said the girl. 

Mr Rimbolt let her go without saying more. Even the man of books hadeyes that could see; and Raby's face during this interview had told atale of something more than casual sympathy. 

The season dragged on, and nothing occurred to mend matters at ClargesStreet. Percy moped and could settle down to nothing. He spurned hisbooks, he neglected his horse, and gave up the river entirely. It wasvain to reason or expostulate with him, and after a couple of months hisparents marked with anxiety that the boy was really ill. Yet nothingwould induce him to quit London. Even his father's offer to take himabroad for a few weeks did not tempt him. 

Raby herself made the final appeal the day before they started. 

"Percy, dear, won't you come for my sake?" said she. 

"If I came for anybody I would for you, " replied he, "but I can't. "

"But I had so looked forward to you seeing father. "

"I'll see him as soon as he gets to town. "

"It will spoil my pleasure so much, " said she. "I shall be miserablethinking of you. "

"You're an awful brick, Raby; but don't bother about me. You'd all beever so much more miserable if I came, and so should I. "

"But what good can it do?" pleaded his cousin. 

"I don't know--he might turn up. I might find him after all. If ithadn't been for your father coming, Raby--I'd have begged you to staytoo. He'd be more likely to come if he knew _you_ were here. "

Raby flushed. Between Percy and his cousin there was no hypocrisy. 

"Oh, Percy, " she said, "do you want to make me fifty times moremiserable?" And she gave up further attempt to move him. 

The travellers were away a month, during which time Percy kept hislonely vigil at Clarges Street. As the reader knows, it was useless. Jeffreys was never near the place, and the lad, watching day after day, began slowly to lose hope. 

But that month's experience was not wholly wasted. Memories of bygonetalks with his friend, of good advice given, and quiet example unheededat the time, crowded in on Percy's memory now; adding to his sense ofloss, certainly, but reminding him that there was something else to bedone than mope and fret. 

What would Jeffreys have had him do? he often asked himself; and theanswer was plain and direct--work. That had always been Jeffreys' curefor everything. That is what he would have done himself, and that iswhat Percy, chastened by his loss, made up his mind to now. 

He got out his old books and his tools, and doggedly took up the workwhere he had left it. It was uphill, cheerless work, but he was betterfor it, and the memory of his lost friend became none the less dear forthe relief it brought him. 

Only one incident marked his solitary month at Clarges Street--that wasa visit from Scarfe about a fortnight after the travellers had gone. Percy had a very shrewd guess, although he had never heard it in so manywords, who was responsible for Jeffreys' disgrace and dismissal; andthat being so, it is not to be wondered at that his welcome of thevisitor was not very cordial. 

"Look here, " said he, as Scarfe entered, and making no movement toreturn his greeting, "is it true you were the fellow who told motherabout Jeff, and had him sent away from here?"

"My dear Percy--"

"I'm not your dear Percy! Did you tell mother that story aboutJeffreys?"

"Why, Percy, you don't mean to say--"

"Shut up! You can Yes or No, can't you?"

"I did my duty, and it's a mercy you're all rid of him!" said Scarfe, losing temper at being thus browbeaten by a boy of Percy's age. 

"Very well, you can go! You're a cad, and you're not wanted here!" saidPercy. 

"You young prig!" began the visitor; but Percy stopped him. 

"Look here, " said he, "if you want to fight, say so, and come on! Ifyou don't, go! You're a cad!"

Scarfe was staggered by this outbreak; he never suspected the boy had itin him. He tried to turn the matter off with a laugh. 

"Come, don't be a muff, Percy! You and I are old friends--"

"We're not; we're enemies!"

"You mean to say, " said Scarfe, with a snarl, "you're going to throw meup for the sake of a--"

"Don't say a word about Jeff!" said Percy, white-hot, and springing tohis feet; "if you do I'll have you pitched neck and crop into thestreet! Hook it! No one asked you here, and you're not wanted!"

"I came to see your mother, " said Scarfe. "I can't congratulate you, Percy, on your hospitality, but I can hope you'll be better next time Icome. "

Percy went out after him, and called down the staircase to Walker, "Walker, give Mr Scarfe a glass of wine and some grub before he goes. "

The taunt about hospitality had stung him, and this was how he relievedhis conscience on that point. 

Scarfe was not the only visitor Percy had. The evening before thetravellers were expected home Walker announced that a gentleman hadcalled inquiring for Mr Rimbolt, but hearing he was from home, desiredto speak with his son. Percy, ready to clutch at any straw of hope, andjumping at once to the conclusion that the only business on which anyone could possibly call at the house was about Jeffreys, told Walker toshow the gentleman up. 

He was a dark, handsome man, with a few streaks of grey in his hair, anda keen, cold look in his eye which Percy mistrusted. 

"We're old friends, I fancy, " said he, nodding to the boy as he entered. "At least, I fancy I saw you sixteen or seventeen years ago. "

"I must have been jolly young then, " said Percy. 

"You were--about a week. Your father and I were college friends. Igave him up as a deserter when he married, and might have cut hisacquaintance altogether, only as he happened to marry my sister, I wasbound to keep up appearances and come and inspect my nephew when he madehis appearance. "

"You're my Uncle Halgrove, then? I thought you were dead. "

"I sympathise keenly with your disappointment. I am alive and well, andhoped to find my brother-in-law at home. "

"They'll be back to-morrow, " said Percy. 

"Have you dined, my boy?"

"No, not yet. "

"That's well; they can lay for two. I'll sleep here to-night. "

Percy scrutinised his uncle critically. 

"Look here, uncle, " he said, rather nervously, "it may be all right, youknow, and I'd be awfully sorry not to be civil. But I never saw youbefore, and didn't know you were alive. So I think you'd better perhapsstay at your hotel to-night and come to-morrow, when they all come home. Do you mind?"

"Mind?" said Mr Halgrove. "I'm delighted if you are. You prefersolitude, so do I. Or perhaps you've been a naughty boy, and are leftbehind for your sins. "

"I've stayed behind because I didn't want to go, " said Percy. 

"Well, " said Mr Halgrove, "I am sure your relatives are the sufferersby your decision. By the way, one of the things I came to see yourfather about was to ask him to help me out of a money difficulty. I'vejust landed from America, and my remittances are not here to meet me. Consequently I am in the ridiculous position of not being able to payfor the luxury of an hotel. But I understand there are nice cleanrailway-arches at Victoria, and that crusts are frequently to be metwith in the gutters if one keeps his eye open. "

Percy was perplexed. 

"Do you mean you're really hard up?" said he, "because if you reallyare, of course you'd better put up here. "

"But I may be a fraud, you know. I may rob the house and murder you inyour bed, " said his uncle, "and that would be a pity. "

"I'll take my chance of that, " said Percy. And so it happened that thehouse in Clarges Street had a visitor on the last night of Percy'slonely month. The boy and his uncle began the evening with a great dealof suspicion and mutual aversion. But it wore off as the hours passed. Mr Halgrove had a fund of stories to tell, and the boy was a goodlistener; and when at last they adjourned to bed they were on friendlyterms. 

Percy, however, took the precaution to take away the front-door key, sothat the visitor could not abscond from the house during the nightwithout his knowledge. The precaution was unnecessary. Mr Halgroverang his bell for shaving water at ten next morning with the confidenceof one who had lived in the house all his life. A few hours later thetravellers arrived in London. 

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. 

HIDE AND SEEK. 

Percy was in considerable difficulty as to the ceremonies to be observedin welcoming his family home. For he had no notion of leaving the housein possession of his suspicious uncle while he went down to the station. Nor could he bear the idea of not being at the station to meet them. So he compromised matters by taking his complaisant relative with him, much to that gentleman's amusement. 

It relieved him considerably, when the train arrived, to see that hismother recognised the stranger, though not effusively, as her veritablebrother. He was thus able to devote his whole attention to his otheruncle, whom he found considerably more interesting. 

Colonel Atherton arrived in high spirits, like a schoolboy home for aholiday. He struck up an alliance with Percy at once, and insisted ontaking him off to the apartments near Regent's Park which were to be hisand Raby's home for the next few months. As he was saying good-bye tothe Rimbolts, he caught sight for the first time of Mr Halgrove. 

"Why, bless me, is that you, Halgrove?" he said. "Why, I've wornmourning for you, my boy. This is a bit of sharp practice. Where didyou spring from?"

"Perhaps I'm a ghost, after all. So many people have told me lately I'mdead, that I begin to believe it. "

"Never fear. If you were a ghost we should be able to see through you--that's more than anybody ever did with Halgrove, eh, Rimbolt?"

"Halgrove is coming home with us, " said Mr Rimbolt, "so when you andRaby come to-morrow we can talk over old times. "

"Who would have thought of him turning up?" said the colonel to hisdaughter as with Percy they drove off in their cab. "Why, I've notheard of him since that affair of poor Jeffreys, and--"

"Jeffreys!" exclaimed Percy, with a suddenness that startled the gallantofficer; "did you say Jeffreys?"

"Yes, what about him? It was long before your time--a dozen or fourteenyears ago. "

"Why, he couldn't have been more than eight then; what happened to him, uncle, I say?"

The boy asked his question so eagerly and anxiously that it was evidentit was not a case of idle curiosity. 

"You must be meaning the son; I'm talking about the father. Wait tillwe get home, my boy, and you shall hear. "

It required all Percy's patience to wait. The very mention of hisfriend's name had excited him. It never occurred to him there werehundreds of Jeffreys in the world, and that his uncle and he might beinterested in quite different persons. For him there was but oneJeffreys in the universe, and he jumped at any straw of hope of findinghim. 

The reader knows all Colonel Atherton was able to tell Percy and Raby--for Raby was not an uninterested listener--of the story of MrHalgrove's partner. Percy in turn told what he knew of his Jeffreys;and putting the two stories together, it seemed pretty clear it was ahistory of parent and son. 

Early next morning the colonel was at Clarges Street, seated in thestudy with his two old college friends. 

"Well, " said he, "here's a case of we three meeting again with avengeance. And what have you been up to, Halgrove, these twenty years?No good, I'll be bound. "

"I have at least managed to keep clear of matrimony, " said Mr Halgrove, "which is more than either of you virtuous family men can say. "

"Ah, well, " said the colonel, with a sigh, "that's not all misfortune--witness my sweet daughter and Rimbolt's fine boy. What have you got toshow against that?"

"Nothing, I confess. "

"By the way, though, haven't you? The last I heard of you was in thepapers; a record of a generous act on your part. You had adopted theson of an unfortunate partner of yours who had died. Is he still withyou?"

"No, " said Mr Halgrove; "that turned out an unfortunate speculation inevery way. "

"Did the boy bolt?"

"Not exactly. I sent him to a first-rate school, where he distinguishedhimself in a way of his own by an act of homicide. "

"What?" exclaimed the colonel; and Mr Rimbolt suddenly becameattentive. 

"Yes. He either quite or very nearly did for a young schoolfellow in afit of the tantrums, and found it convenient to quit the place ratherabruptly. "

"What was the name of the school?" asked Mr Rimbolt quietly. 

"Bolsover, in --shire. "

"Singular!" exclaimed the colonel. "I had a chum in India who had a boyat that very school. "

Here the speaker became aware of a sharp kick under the table and asignificant look from Mr Rimbolt. The old soldier was used to obey theword of command at a moment's notice and pulled up now. 

"I should think a thing like that would be very bad for the school, "said Mr Rimbolt quietly, and in an off-hand way. 

"Fatal, " said Mr Halgrove. "I believe Bolsover went to the dogs afterit. "

"And so you had--you had young--what was his name?"

"Jeffreys. "

"Young Jeffreys on your hands?"

"Scarcely. We parted company. As I told him, I never was particular, but a man must draw the line somewhere, and I drew it at manslaughter. "

"What became of him?"

"Well, before I went abroad he was usher in a dame school in York. Hemay be there still, unless by this time all his pupils are devoured. "

"Very unpleasant business for you, " said Mr Rimbolt. 

"And, " asked the colonel, with a wink at his brother-in-law, "did he, like the prodigal, take his portion of goods with him? I mean what hisfather left him. "

Mr Halgrove for a moment raised his brows uncomfortably. 

"No, " said he; "Benjamin Jeffreys was an eccentric man, and invested hismoney in eccentric securities. His son's money, like the lad himself, went to the dogs, and left me decidedly out of pocket by my term ofguardianship. I really advise neither of you to indulge yourphilanthropy in adopting somebody else's sons; it doesn't pay. "

"Yours certainly was not a lucky experience, " said Mr Rimbolt;"however, when you were last heard of, Fame reported that you couldafford to drop a little. "

"_Fama volat_, and so does money. No one could repeat the libel nowwith truth. The fact is, this visit to an old college friend is atrifle interested. My journey to the West has turned out badly, and, greatly as I should like it, I could not offer to lend either of youfellows a hundred pounds at this present moment. So I hope you won'task me. "

The talk here took a financial turn, and Mrs Rimbolt presently joiningthe party, she and her brother were left to themselves while Mr Rimboltand the colonel took a short stroll. 

Mr Rimbolt took the opportunity of telling his brother-in-law what heknew, not only of Jeffreys but of young Forrester, and the colonel toldhim of his obligation to find if possible the child of his deadcompanion-in-arms. 

"It's a mixed-up business altogether, " said he, "and from all I canjudge something of a family matter. My little girl, Rimbolt, whomyou've been so good to, seems to me more interested in this librarian ofyours than she would like any one to suspect--eh?"

"I have fancied so, " said Mr Rimbolt, "sometimes. "

"Pleasant to come home and find everybody in the dumps about some personone has never seen. The sooner the rascal comes to light, the betterfor everybody and for my holiday. By the way, Rimbolt, that struck meas fishy about Jeffreys' money, didn't it you?"

"It did. I had never heard anything about Halgrove having a partner. "

"I had. He went out of his mind and died by his own hand; but from whatI knew of Halgrove then, I should say it was _he_ who had a weakness foreccentric speculations. However, the money's gone; so it's all the samefor young Jeffreys. "

Raby found her life at Regent's Park very different from that either atWildtree or Clarges Street. Colonel Atherton was a man who hatedceremony of any kind, and had a great idea of letting everybody do asthey chose. Raby consequently found herself her own mistress in a wayshe had never experienced before. It was not altogether a delightfulsensation; for though she loved her father's companionship and the careof looking after his wants, she often felt the time hang heavy on herhands. 

The colonel had a number of old friends to look up, and a great deal ofbusiness to do; and Raby, used to company of some sort, found hisabsences lonely. Percy was often at the house, but he in his presentdismal mood was poor company. His one topic was Jeffreys; and that toRaby was the last topic on which she felt drawn to talk to any one. 

When, therefore, a neighbour suggested to her one day to give an hour ortwo a week to visiting the poor of the district, Raby hailed theproposal gladly. It was work she had been used to at Wildtree, and towhich she had already had yearnings in London, though Mrs Rimbolt hadopposed it. 

"Mind? Not a bit, " said her father, when she broached the subject tohim, "as long as you don't get small-pox or get into mischief. I shouldlike to be a denizen of a slum myself, for the pleasure of getting avisit from you. "

And so the girl began her work of charity, spending generally an hour aday, under the direction of her friend, in some of the closely packedalleys near. As she made a point of being home always to welcome herfather in the afternoon, her visits were generally paid early in theday, when the men would be away at work and when the chief claimants onher help and pity would be the poor women and children left behind, withsometimes a sick or crippled man unable to help himself. It was oftensad, often depressing work. But the brave girl with a heart full oflove faced it gladly, and felt herself the happier for it day by day. 

It was on an afternoon shortly after this new work had been begun thatshe was overtaken by a sudden October squall as she was hurrying backthrough Regent's Park towards home. The morning had been fine, and shehad neither cloak nor umbrella. No cab was within sight; and there wasnothing for it but to stand up under a tree till the rain stopped, orwalk boldly through it. She was just debating this question withherself when she became aware of an umbrella over her, and a voice ather side saying, --

"This is most fortunate. Miss Atherton. Who would have thought ofmeeting you here?"

It was Scarfe; and Raby would sooner have met any one else in the world. 

"Thank you, " said she, "I shall be quite sheltered under this tree. Don't let me detain you. "

"Nonsense!" said he; "you know I am delighted to be detained sopleasantly. Won't you come farther under the trees?"

"No, I must be home, thank you. I don't want to be late. "

But just then the rain came down in such a deluge that she had nothingfor it but to give in and stand up for shelter. 

"It seems ages since we met, " began Scarfe. 

Raby had a vivid enough recollection of that evening in theconservatory, but did not contradict him. 

"I called at Clarges Street last month, hoping to see you, but you wereaway. "

"Yes, we were abroad--all but Percy. "

"I saw Percy. Poor fellow, he did not seem himself at all. MissAtherton, you must not blame me if I remind you of something we weretalking about when I last saw you--"

"Please don't, Mr Scarfe; I have no wish to refer to it. "

"But I must. Do you know, Raby, I have thought of no one but you eversince?"

Raby said nothing, and wished the rain would stop. 

"Is it too much to ask whether, perhaps once or twice, you have thoughtof me?"

Raby began to get angry. Was it not cowardly to get her here at adisadvantage and begin to talk to her about what she had no wish tohear?

"Yes--I have thought once or twice of you, " she said. 

"How good of you, Raby!" said he, trying to take her hand. "May I hopeit was with something more than indifference--with love?"

"Certainly not, " said she, drawing back her hand, and, in spite of therain, starting to walk. 

Bitterly crestfallen, he walked at her side and held his umbrella overher. 

"You are harsh with me, " said he reproachfully. 

"I am sorry. You should not have provoked me. I asked you not to talkabout it. "

"I am afraid, Miss Atherton, " said he, "some one has been prejudicingyou against me. Percy, perhaps, has been talking about me. "

Raby walked on without replying. 

"Percy is very angry with me for doing what it was only my duty to do ashis friend--and yours. He misunderstands me, and, I fear, so do you. "

"I do not misunderstand you at all, " said Raby boldly. 

"But I am afraid you do not thank me. "

"No. I have nothing to thank you for. "

"I did my duty, at any rate. I stated the truth, and nothing more, andshould have been wrong to allow things to go on without at least trying, for the sake of those for whom I cared, and still care, Miss Atherton, to set them right. Do I understand you blame me for that?"

"Mr Scarfe, you have done a cruel thing to one who never did you harm--and I see nothing to admire in it. "

Scarfe sneered. 

"Jeffreys is fortunate in his champion. Perhaps, at least, MissAtherton, you will do me the credit of remembering that on one occasionyour hero owed his life to me. I hope that, too, was not cowardly orcruel. "

"If he had known the ruin you had in store for him, he would not havethanked you. "

Raby spoke with downcast eyes, and neither she nor Scarfe perceived thepoor tramp on the path, who, as they brushed past him, glanced wistfullyround at their faces. 

"He never thanked me, " said Scarfe. 

They walked on some distance in silence. Then Scarfe said, "MissAtherton, you are unfair to me now. You think I acted out of spite, instead of out of affection--for you. "

"It is a kind of affection I don't appreciate, Mr Scarfe; and as therain has nearly stopped I need not trouble you any more. Thank you forthe shelter, and good-bye. "

"You really mean that you reject me--that you do not care for me?"

"I do not. I am sorry to say so--good-bye. "

And she left him there, bewildered certainly, but in no manner of doubtthat she had done with him. 

She told her father all about it that evening, and was a good dealreassured by his hearty approval of her conduct. 

"The kindest thing you could have done, instead of letting him dangleafter you indefinitely. Rough on him, perhaps; but that sort of fellowdoesn't deserve much letting down. "

The reader has heard already how in the course of her visits of mercyRaby happened to find Jonah Trimble very near his end, and how she wasable to cheer and lighten his dying hours. Little dreamed she, as shesat by the death-bed that morning, and wrote those few dying words, intowhose hands her little letter would fall, or what a spell they wouldwork on the life of him who received them. From the other neighboursshe heard not a little about "John, " and sometimes wished she mightchance to see him. But he was away from early morning till late atnight, and they never met. Mrs Pratt in the room below, and her littledying daughter, had many a tale of kindness and devotion to tell abouthim; and when presently the little life fled, she heard with gratefultears of his act of mercy to the poor overwrought mother, and thankedGod for it. 

The time passed on, and one day early in December, when she returnedhome, she found her father in an unwonted state of excitement. 

"There's a clue, Raby, at last!" he said. 

"A clue, father--you mean about young Forrester?"

"About both. It's the most mixed-up affair I was ever in. Who do yousuppose has written in answer to our advertisement about Forrester?"

"Has he replied himself?" asked Raby disingenuously; for she guessed thetruth. 

"Not a bit of it. The letter's from Jeffreys. He doesn't sign hisname, of course; but he writes to say that he was at Bolsover, and wasresponsible for the accident, and repeats what Rimbolt knows alreadyabout his trying to hear of them in his native place. There's nothingvery fresh about Forrester; but it may lead to our finding Jeffreys. "

"Of course, " said Raby, finding it hard to conceal her emotion, "he haswritten to the lawyers. Does he give an address, then?"

"No--only a coffee-house in Drury Lane. He's evidently on his guardagainst a trap. He writes private and confidential; but you can see heis ready to do anything to find Forrester. "

"What shall you do?"

"Well, Rimbolt says leave it to the lawyers. Of course we've no rightto trap him, and Rimbolt thinks Wilkins & Wilkins had better not mentionour names, but let him know they are acting for Forrester's executors. If he's not scared during the first visit or two, he may consent to seeme, or Percy--and among us we may be able to help him out of his presentcondition, which, to judge by his letter, I should fancy is ratherreduced. He has been asked to call at Wilkins' on Wednesday, and theyhave promised to treat the matter as confidential--and we shall justhave to trust they will manage to talk him round. "

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. 

A BRAND FROM THE BURNING!

Little suspecting the interest which his movements were causingelsewhere, Jeffreys, on the appointed Wednesday, presented himself atMessrs. Wilkins & Wilkins' office. He was so much changed by eightmonths' misery and privation that no ordinary acquaintance would haverecognised in the broken-down, haggard man who entered the office theonce robust and stalwart librarian of Wildtree. Even Percy would havehad to look at him twice to make sure. 

Mr Wilkins looked up curiously at his visitor. 

"Ah, " said he, "you have called in reference to that advertisement aboutGerard Forrester. Quite so. Let me see. I have your letter here, Mr--"

"It is not necessary to know my name, " said Jeffreys. 

"Just as you please. Of course, as you say you were at Bolsover Schoolwith Forrester, and were the cause of his accident, it is hardly worthwhile making a mystery of it. "

"I forgot that. My name is John Jeffreys. "

"Thank you. It is a very proper thing of you to offer to assist us inour search, and I shall be glad if in the end you should become entitledto the reward which has been offered. "

"I would not touch a farthing of it, " said Jeffreys, with a scorn thatastonished the lawyer. 

"Well, that's your affair. I can understand you have some remorse forwhat has occurred, and would be glad to help, reward or no reward. "

"I would give my life to find young Forrester. Has anything been heardof him?"

"Not much, though we have been able to trace him rather farther than youdid. We found a day or two ago a mention of the case of a lad sufferingfrom the results of an accident such as he appears to have met with inone of the medical papers at the time. The case was reported as havingbeen treated at Middlesex Hospital, and I find on inquiry there that inthe December of that year Gerard Forrester was a patient under treatmentfor some months, and in the May following was discharged as incurable. That, you see, was more than eighteen months ago. "

Jeffreys felt his heart thump excitedly as he listened. It was littleenough, but it seemed at least to bring him six months nearer to theobject of his search. 

"After that, " said Mr Wilkins, "we are unable to discover anything. The address entered against his name in the hospital books, which wasprobably that of his old nurse, cannot now be found, as the street hasbeen pulled down a year ago, and no one recollects him. I saw thesurgeon at the hospital, who remembered the case, and he explained to methat the boy when he left there might have lived a month or twentyyears. In any case he would always have to lie on his back. It wouldbe possible, he said, for him to use his hands--indeed, he believedduring the last week or two of his stay in the hospital he had amusedhimself with drawing. "

"He was considered good at drawing at Bolsover, " put in Jeffreys. 

"So he may possibly have been able to earn a living of some sort. Thestrange thing is that he does not appear to have written to any one. Hemight have communicated with his former head-master, or some of hisgrandmother's friends at Grangerham, but he has not. According toColonel--to my client's account, he does not even appear to have writtento his father, though it is possible a letter may have miscarried there. You have heard, no doubt, that his father died in action in Afghanistanin January?"

"Yes, I heard that--very gallantly. "

"Yes; in fact, the boy would, I believe, if he could be found, beentitled to a pension, besides what little property his father left. The account of the action, as well as our advertisements, have been inthe papers. If Gerard is alive, he is probably somewhere beyond thereach of the press, and for my own part I cannot see how he can be inany but destitute circumstances. "

This was all there was to say. But Mr Wilkins' task was not yet done. He had been instructed to ascertain, if possible, something of Jeffreys'present condition, and to sound him as to his willingness to see againsome of the friends of his old life. 

"I am afraid, " said he, "you too have had reverses, Mr Jeffreys. "

"Never mind me, please, " replied he. 

"You are living near here?"

"No. "

"You must excuse me if I take an interest in you--as a formerschoolfellow of young Forrester's. You have come through much sincethen?"

"Not more than I deserve, " said Jeffreys, fidgeting. 

"My client, I think, would have been glad to see you; but as you made apoint of this interview being confidential, I was not justified inasking him to be present. "

"Oh no. I don't want to see any one. "

"It would be a great help to my client, who is a stranger in London, ifyou, who know Forrester, would assist him. "

"Who is your client, may I ask?"

"My client, " said Mr Wilkins, resolved to make the venture, "is aColonel Atherton, an old comrade of Captain Forrester, who hasundertaken to try and find the boy and provide for him. "

Jeffreys started, and replied--

"No; I will do anything to help by myself, but I do not wish to meethim. "

"You know him, then?"

"No, I have never seen him. "

"He would, I can promise, respect your confidence, Mr Jeffreys. "

"I know, but I cannot meet him or any one. I will do anything he wantsabout searching for Forrester--he cannot be more anxious about it than Iam--but I have every reason for wishing to remain unknown. "

"You forget that it is hardly possible he can fail to know your name;and he has friends, some of whom I believe are deeply interested in yourwelfare. "

Jeffreys shuddered. 

"I can't say more, " said he. "I will do all I can, but I want to seenobody but you. "

"I may, of course, report this interview to my client?"

"Of course; I can't prevent that. "

"And I must tell him you definitely refuse to meet him. "

"Yes. I cannot see him. "

"Or tell him your address?"

"No; you know where a letter would find me. "

"Well, will you call again--say this day week?"

"Yes; to see you alone. "

Thus the unsatisfactory interview ended. 

Mr Wilkins was a man of honour, and felt he had no right to insist onJeffreys opening communications with the colonel; still less had he theright as he might easily have done, to track his footsteps and discoverhis hiding-place. 

Jeffreys, alive to a sense of insecurity, evidently expected thepossibility of some such friendly ruse, for he returned to his work by along and circuitous course which would have baffled even the cleverestof detectives. He seriously debated with himself that night thedesirability of vacating his garret at Storr Alley and seeking lodgingssomewhere else. His old life seemed hemming him in; and like the waryhare, he felt the inclination to double on his pursuers and give themthe slip. 

For, rightly or wrongly, he had convinced himself that the one calamityto be dreaded was his recapture by the friends in whose house his badname had played him so evil a revenge. 

Yet how could he leave Storr Alley? Had he not ties there?

Was it not worth worlds to him to hear now and then, on his return atnight, some scrap of news of the ministering angel whose visits cheeredthe place in his absence? He shrank more than ever from a chancemeeting; but was it not a pardonable self-indulgence to stay where hecould hear and even speak of her?

Nor was that his only tie now. 

Mrs Pratt, in the room below, had never recovered yet from the illnessthat had prostrated her at little Annie's death; and night by nightJeffreys had carried the two babies to his own attic in order to giveher the rest she needed, and watch over them in their hours of cold andrestlessness. 

He became an expert nurse. He washed and dressed those two smallbrethren--the eldest of whom was barely three--as deftly and gently asif he had been trained to the work. And he manipulated their frugalmeals, and stowed them away in his bed, with all the art of a practisednurse. How could he desert them now? How indeed? That very night, ashe sat writing, with the little pair sleeping fitfully on the bed, ahead was put in at the door, and a voice said in a whisper, "Poor MrsPratt's gone, John. "

"What, " he said, "is she dead?"

"Yes--all of a sudden--the 'art done it--I know'd she was weak there. Poor dear--and her husband such a bad 'un too, and they do say she wasbe'ind with her rent. "

So the woman chattered on, and when at last she went, Jeffreys glancedat his two unconscious charges and went on writing. No, he could notleave Storr Alley. 

In the morning, as usual, he performed their little toilets, andannounced to the elder that his mother was gone away, and they mightstay upstairs. Whereat the little orphan was merry, and executed acaper on the bare floor. 

A fresh dilemma faced the newly made father. He must work if he and hisfamily were to eat. The thirty shillings he had earned last week couldnot last for ever. Indeed, the neighbours all seemed to take it forgranted he would see to Mrs Pratt's burial; and how could he dootherwise? That meant a decided pull on his small resources. For a dayor two he might live on his capital, and after that--

He put off that uncomfortable speculation. The baby began loudly todemand its morning meal; and the three-year-old, having run through itsmirth, began to whimper for its mother. Altogether Jeffreys had a busytime of it. 

So busy that when, about mid-day, Tim, who had been perched upon a boxat the window to amuse himself at the peril of his neck by looking outinto the court below, suddenly exclaimed--"There she is!" he boundedfrom his seat like one electrified, and for the first time realised that_she_ might come and find him!

There was barely a chance of escape. She had already entered the house;and he became aware of the little flutter which usually pervaded thecrowded tenement when she set foot in it. She had many families tovisit, and each grudged her to the next. The women had yards of troubleto unroll to her sympathy; and the children besieged her for stories andsongs. The sick lifted their heads as they heard her foot on the steps;and even the depraved and vicious and idle set their doors ajar to get aglimpse of her as she passed. 

What could he do? Wait and face her, and perhaps meet her look ofscorn, or worse still, of forgiveness? or hide from her? He debated thequestion till he heard her enter the chamber of death below. 

Then there came over him a vision of her as he had last seen her thatOctober afternoon with Scarfe in Regent's Park. With a groan hegathered together his papers, and bidding Tim mind the baby till hereturned, seized his hat and hurried from the room. On the dark, narrowstaircase he brushed against a dress which he knew must be hers. For amoment he was tempted to pause, if only for a look at her face; but shepassed on, and was gone before he could turn. 

He went out miserably into the street, and waited within view of theentrance to the alley till she should come out. She was long before sheappeared--he guessed how those two friendless little orphans woulddetain her. When she came her veil was down, and in the crowd on thepavement he lost sight of her in a moment. Yet he knew her, and all hisresolution once more wavered, as he reflected that he was still withinreach of her voice and her smile. 

He returned anxiously to the attic. The baby lay asleep on the bed, andTim, perched on his window seat, was crooning over a little doll. 

There was a flower on the table; the scanty furniture of the room hadbeen set in order, and his quick eye even noticed that a rent in Tim'sfrock which had caused him some concern in the morning had been neatlymended. 

Tim came and put the little doll into his hands. 

"She gave it me. Will she soon come again?" said the child. 

"Yes; she's sure to come again. "

"You ran away; you was afraid. I wasn't. "

In a strange turmoil of emotions Jeffreys resumed his writing. Theflower in the cup beside him was only a half-withered aster, yet itseemed to him to perfume the room. 

After dark the neighbour put her head into the room. 

"Then you didn't see the lady?" said she. 

"No; I was out. "

"It's a pity. She's a angel, John. The way she sat with them poorchilder would do you good to see. I told 'er you 'ad took them, and, bless you, 'er eyes filled with tears to think of a man doing it whenyou might let them go to the work'us. Not that I wouldn't do it, John, if I 'adn't six of my own and the mangle and not room to turn round. And Mrs Parkes was a-saying the childer would be welcome in 'er room, only the smells is that bad in 'er corner that there's no living in itexcept for seasoned bodies. There's my Polly, you know, John, is eight, and she would look after them now and again, when you're busy. She's agood child, is Polly, and can write on a slate beautiful. "

Jeffreys thanked her, and promised to come to an arrangement with Polly, and went on with his work. 

In due time the claims of hunger created a diversion, and he and hisinfants--one on each knee--partook of a comfortable repast of bread andmilk. 

He had hard work to induce the baby, after it was over, to resume hisslumbers. That young gentleman evidently had a vivid recollection ofsome one having walked about with him and sung him to sleep in themiddle of the day, and he resented now being unceremoniously laid on hisback and expected to slumber without persuasion. 

Jeffreys had to take him up finally and pace the room for an hour, andabout ten o'clock sat down to his interrupted work. Till midnight helaboured on; then, cold and wearied, he put out his little candle andlay himself beside the children on the bed. 

He had scarcely done so when he became aware of a glare at the window, which brought him to his feet in an instant. It was a fire somewhere. 

His first panic that it might be in the house was quickly relieved. Itwas not even in Storr Alley, but in one of the courts adjoining. Helooked down from his window. The alley was silent and empty. No onethere, evidently, had yet had an alarm. 

Quickly putting on his boots, he hurried down, and made his way in thedirection of the flames. From below they were still scarcely visible, and he concluded that the fire, wherever it was, must have broken out ina top storey. Driver's Court, which backed onto Storr Alley, with whichit was connected at the far end by a narrow passage, was an unknown landto Jeffreys. The Jews in Storr's had no dealings with the Samaritans inDriver's; for Storr Alley, poor as it might be, prided itself on beingdecent and hard-working, whereas Driver's--you should have heard thestories told about it. It was a regular thieves' college. A strangerwho chanced into Driver's with a watch-chain upon him, or a chink ofmoney in his pocket, or even a good coat on his back, might as soonthink of coming out by the way he had entered as of flying. There wereugly stories of murders and mysteries under those dark staircases, andeven the police drew the line at Driver's Court, and gave it the go-by. 

Jeffreys had nothing to apprehend as he rushed down the passage. He hadneither watch, chain, nor money, nor good coat. His footsteps echoingnoisily in the midnight silence brought a few heads to their windows, and almost before he stood in the court there was the cry of "Fire!"

Terrible anywhere, such a cry in a court like Driver's was terribleindeed. In a moment the narrow pavement swarmed with people, shouting, cursing, and screaming. Although even yet the flames scarcely appearedfrom below, a panic set in which it was hopeless either to remove orcontrol. Chairs, tables, mattresses were flung, it seemed at random, from the windows. Mothers, not venturing out on the stairs, cried downto those below to catch their children. Drunken men, suddenly roused, reeled fighting and blaspheming into the court. Thieves plied theirtrade even on their panic-stricken neighbours, and fell to blows overthe plunder. Still more terrible was the cry to others who remainedwithin. 

Children, huddled into corners, heard that cry, and it glued them wherethey stood. The sick and the crippled heard it, and made one lasteffort to rise and escape. Even the aged and bedridden, deserted byall, when they heard it, lay shouting for some one to help. 

The flames, pent-up at first and reddening the sky sullenly through thesmoke, suddenly freed themselves and shot up in a wild sheet above thecourt. The crowd below answered the outburst with a hideous chorus ofshrieks and yells, and surged madly towards the doomed house. 

There was no gleam of pity or devotion in those lurid, upturned faces. To many of them it was a show, a spectacle; to others a terriblenightmare, to others a cruel freak of Providence, calling forth curses. 

The flames, spreading downwards, had already reached the second floor, when a window suddenly opened; and a woman with wild dishevelled hair, put out her head and screamed wildly. 

The crowd caught sight of her, and answered with something like a jeer. 

"It's Black Sal, " some one shouted; "she's kotched it at last. "

"Why don't you jump?" shouted another. 

"Booh?" shouted a third. "Who skinned the cripple?"

The woman gave a scared look up and down. The flames at that momentwrapped round the window, and, with a wild howl, the crowd saw herdisappear into the room. 

Jeffreys all this time had been standing wedged in the crowd, aspectator of that hideous scene, and now a witness of this last tragedy. 

With a desperate effort he fought his way to the front, hitting rightand left to make himself a passage. It was a minute before he gotthrough. Then the crowd, realising as if by intuition his purpose, staggered back, and raised a howl as he dashed into the door of thehalf-consumed building. 

The first flight of steps was still intact, and he was up it in amoment; but as he dashed up the second the smoke whirled down in hisface and half-choked him. He groped--for it was impossible to see--insearch of the door; and guided partly by the roar of the crowd without, and partly by the shrieks within, he found the room. 

It was full of flame as he entered it, and to all appearance containednothing else. The wretched woman, finding the stairs worse to face thanthe window, had rushed back there and flung herself desperately onto theheads of the crowd below. As he turned to save himself, Jeffreys, amidthe roar of the flames, caught the sound of a shout from the corner ofthe room which he had imagined to be empty. 

Rushing towards it, he caught sight of a figure of a lad on the floor, blackened with smoke, and evidently unable to move. 

Yet he was not senseless, for he called, "I can't walk--help me. "

Jeffreys caught him in his arms in a moment, and only just in time. Hehad literally to wade through flame to the door; and when he reached thestairs outside, the dense smoke, reddening every instant, burst upon himwell-nigh overwhelmingly. 

How he struggled down that awful flight with his burden he knew not. More than once he stumbled; and once a shower of fallen embers all butstunned him. It was all done in a minute. 

Those who watched without marvelled how soon he returned; and when theyperceived that he bore in his arms a living creature, even Driver'sCourt swayed back to let him pass, and cheered him. Happily a cry of"Engines!" at the other end of the court diverted the crowd stillfurther, and enabled him to stagger forward clear of danger. 

"Drop him, he's a dead 'un!" shouted some one who stopped a moment topeer into the face of the senseless lad. 

"I'll give you a shilling to help me with him out of this, " saidJeffreys. 

It was a shilling well spent. Unaided he could never have done it, butwith the sturdy gladiator to clear the way he was able at last to reachthe comparative seclusion of Storr Alley. The offer of another shillingprevailed on the man to carry the lad to the attic. 

Then for the first time left to himself, he looked in the face of thisunexpected guest. And as he did so the room seemed to swim round him. He forgot where he was or what he was. He looked down on an upturnedface, but one not blackened with smoke. It was white and livid, withgreen grass for a background--and the roar he heard was no longer thedistant yell of a panic-stricken mob, but boys' voices--voices shoutingat himself! Yes, for the last time that vision rose before him. Thenwith a mighty effort he shook off the dream and looked once more in theface of the boy who lay there on the floor of the Storr Alley garret. And as he did so young Forrester slowly opened his eyes. 

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. 

COME BACK. 

Raby had come home with a strange story from Storr Alley that afternoon. She was not much given to romance, but to her there was somethingpathetic about this man "John" and his unceremonious adoption of thoseorphan children. She had not seen anything exactly like it, and itmoved both her admiration and her curiosity. 

She had heard much about "John" from the neighbours, and all she hadheard had been of the right sort. Jonah had talked bitterly of him nowand then, but before he died he had acknowledged that John had been hisonly friend. Little Annie had never mentioned him without a smilebrightening her face; and even those who had complaints to pour outabout everybody all round could find nothing to say about him. Yet sheseemed destined never to see him. 

The next day, at her usual time, Raby turned her steps to Storr Alley. Groups of people stood about in the court, and it was evident, since shewas last there, something untoward had happened. A fireman's helmet atthe other end of the alley, in the passage leading to Driver's Court, told its own tale; and if that was not enough, the smell of fire and thebundles of rags and broken furniture which blocked up the narrowpathway, were sufficient evidence. 

The exiles from Driver's stared hard at the young lady as she made herway through the crowd; but the people of Storr Alley treated her as afriend, and she had no lack of information as to the calamity of thepreceding night. 

Raby paid several visits on her way up. Then, with some trepidation, she knocked at the door of the garret. There was no reply from withintill she turned the handle, and said--

"May I come in?"

Then a voice replied, --

"Yes, if you like, " and she entered. 

It was a strange scene which met her eyes as she did so. A lad wasstretched on the bed, awake, but, motionless, regarding with someanxiety a baby who slumbered, nestling close to his side. On the floor, curled up, with his face to the wall, lay a man sleeping heavily; whileTim, divided in his interest between the stranger on the bed and thevisitor at the door, stood like a little watchdog suddenly put on hisguard. 

"May I come in?" said Raby again timidly. 

"Here she is!" cried Tim, running to her; "John's asleep, and he, "--pointing to the figure on the bed--"can't run about. "

"Correct, Timothy, " said the youth referred to; "I can't--hullo!"

This last exclamation was caused by his catching sight of Raby at thedoor. He had expected a lodger; but what was this apparition?

"Please come in, " said he, bewildered; "it's a shocking room to ask youinto, and--Timothy, introduce me to your friend. "

Raby smiled; and how the crippled lad thought it brightened the room!"Tim and I are friends, " said she, lifting up the child to give him akiss. "I'm afraid you are very badly hurt. I heard of the fire as Icame up. "

"No, I'm all right; I'm never very active. In fact, I can only move myhands and my head, as Timothy says. I can't run, I'm a cripple. Ishouldn't be anything if it wasn't for Jeff. Hullo, Jeff! wake up, oldman!"

Raby started and turned pale as she raised her hand to prevent hiswaking the sleeper. 

"No, please, don't wake him; what did you say his name was?"

"Jeffreys--John Jeffreys--commonly called Jeff. He hauled me out of thefire last night, and guessed as little at the time who I was as Iguessed who he was. I can't believe it yet. It's like a--"

"You haven't told me your name, " said Raby faintly. 

"Gerard Forrester, at your service. Hullo, I say, are you ill? Hi!Jeff, wake up, old man; you're wanted. "

Raby had only time to sink on a chair and draw Tim to her when Jeffreyssuddenly woke and rose to his feet. 

"What is it, Forrester, old fellow? anything wrong?" said he, springingto the bedside. 

"I don't know what's the matter--look behind you. "

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Why did she cry?" asked Tim presently, when she had gone. "I know;because of that ugly man, " added he, pointing to Forrester. 

"Excuse me, young man, I have the reputation of being good-looking; thatcannot have been the reason. But, Jeff, I'm all in a dream. Who isshe? and how comes she to know you or me? And, as Timothy pertinentlyremarks, `Whence these tears?' Tell us all about it before the babywakes. "

Jeffreys told him. The story was the history of his life since he hadleft Bolsover; and it took long to tell, for he passed over nothing. 

"Poor old man!" said Forrester, when it was done; "what a lot you havebeen through!"

"Have I not deserved it? That day at Bolsover--"

"Oh, for goodness' sake, don't go back to that. You know it was anaccident, and what was not an accident was the fault of my own folly. That night I awoke and saw you standing at the door, I knew that you hadalready suffered as much as I had. "

"That was the last time I saw you. You forget I have still to hear whathappened to you afterwards. "

"It's pretty easily told. But I say, Jeff, what did you say her namewas?"

"Raby Atherton, " said Jeffreys, smiling. This was about the twentiethtime the boy had broken in with some question about her. "She is thedaughter of your guardian, Colonel Atherton, who was your father'scomrade in Afghanistan. Some day she will tell you the story of abattle out there which will make you proud of being Captain Forrester'sson. But I want to hear about you. "

"I was taken home to Grangerham, you know. My grandmother was ill atthe time, and just starting South, so I was left in charge of my oldnurse. She was an awful brick to me, was that old soul, and I don'tbelieve I know yet all she did and put up with for me. 

"The doctors at Grangerham couldn't make anything of me. One said I'dbe cutting about again in a few weeks, and another said I'd be buried ina few days. It's hard to decide when doctors disagree at that rate, andold Mary gave it up, and did what was the best thing--kept me quietly athome. Of course we thought that my grandmother had written to myfather, but she hadn't, so he can't have heard for ages. We heard of mygrandmother's death presently, and then made the pleasant discovery thatshe had died in debt, and that the furniture of the house was hired. That pulled Mary and me up short. She had saved a little, and I believeshe spent every penny of that to get me up to London to a hospital. Ididn't have a bad time of it there for a month or two. I was consideredan interesting case, and had all sorts of distinguished fellows to comeand look at me, and I lived like a fighting-cock all the time. I found, as long as I lay flat, and didn't get knocked about, I was really prettycomfortable, and what was more, I could use my hands. That was no endof a blessing. I had picked up a few ideas about drawing you know, atBolsover, and found now that I could do pretty well at it. I believesome of my sketches at the Middlesex were thought well of. Mary came tosee me nearly every day. I could see she was getting poorer and poorer, and when at last I was discharged, the little rooms she took me to wereabout as poor as they could be to be respectable. 

"I'd hardly been back a week, when one day after going out to try tosell some of my sketches, she came home ill and died quite suddenly. Iwas all up a tree then--no money, no friends, no legs. I wrote toFrampton, but he can't have got my letter. Then I got threatened witheviction, and all but left out in the street, when the person old Maryhad sold my sketches to called round and ordered some more. I didn'tsee him, but a brute of a woman who lived in the house did, and was cuteenough to see she could make a good thing out of me. So she tookpossession of me, and ever since then I've been a prisoner, cut off fromthe outside world as completely as if I had been in a dungeon, grindingout pictures by the dozen, and never seeing a farthing of what theyfetched, except in the food which Black Sal provided to keep me alive. Now and then, in an amiable mood, she would get me a newspaper; and onceI had to illustrate a cheap edition of Cook's _Voyages_, and of coursehad the book to go by. But she never let me write to anybody or seeanybody, and mounted guard over me as jealously as if I had been averitable goose that laid golden eggs. 

"You know the rest. We got turned out when they pulled down the oldplace, and took refuge in Driver's Alley, a nice select neighbourhood;and there you found me, old man. "

"Think of being near one another so long, " said Jeffreys, "and neverknowing it. "

"Ten to one that's exactly what my guardian's daughter is observing toherself at this moment. I say, Jeff, compared with Driver's Court, thisis a palatial apartment, and you are a great improvement on Black Sal;but for ah that, don't you look forward to seeing a littlecivilisation--to eating with a fork, for instance, and hearing an `h'aspirated; and--oh, Jeff, it will be heavenly to wear a clean collar!"

Jeffreys laughed. 

"Your two years' trouble haven't cast out the spirit of irreverence, youngster, " said he. 

"It _is_ jolly to hear myself called youngster, " said the boy, in aparenthesis; "it reminds me of the good old days. "

"Before Bolsover?" said Jeffreys sadly. 

"Look here! If you go back to that again, and pull any more of thoselong faces, Jeff, I'll be angry with you. Wasn't all that affairperhaps a blessing in the long run? It sent me to a school that's doneme more good than Bolsover; and as for you--well, but for it you'd neverhave had that sweet visitor this morning. "

"Don't talk of that. That is one of the chief drawbacks to my goingback into civilisation, as you call it. "

"A very nice drawback--if it's the only one--"

"It's not--there's another. "

"What is that?"

"My babies!"

It was a strange, happy night, that last in the Storr Alley garret. Jeffreys had begged Raby to let them stay where they were in peace forthat day; and she considerately kept their counsel till the morning. Then she told her father the strange story. 

"Two birds with one stone, and such a stone!" ejaculated the bewilderedcolonel. 

"Four birds, father--there are two babies as well. "

"Whew!" said the colonel, "what a holiday I am having!"

"Poor father, " said the girl, "it's too bad!"

"Oh, well. The more the merrier. What's to be done now? We'd bettercharter a coach and four and a brass band and go and fetch them home instate. If they'd wait till to-morrow we would have up a triumphal archtoo. "

"How frivolous you are, father! We must get them away with as littlefuss as possible. I arranged with Mr Jeffreys that he would bring MrForrester here in a cab this morning. "

"And the babies?"

"He will go back for them afterwards. "

"Well, as you like; but what about Percy and the Rimbolts?"

"Percy was to go out of town to-day, you know, and will not be back tillto-morrow. By that time we shall be able to find out what Mr Jeffreyswould like best. "

"Oh, very good. We'll wait till his royal highness signifies hispleasure, and meanwhile our relatives and friends must be avoided--that's what you mean. "

"No, " said Raby, colouring; "but you know how easily frightened he is. "

The colonel laughed pleasantly. 

"All right, Raby; they shall be let down as easily as you like. Nowshall I be in the way when they come, or shall I make myself scarce?And, by the way, I must go at once and get a perambulator, and feeding-bottles, and all that sort of thing. How many times a day am I to besent out to take them walks?"

"You're too silly for anything, " said Raby dutifully. 

She was grateful to him for making things so easy, and for covering herown ill-disguised embarrassment by this adroit show of frivolity. 

There was no frivolity in the manner in which the gallant soldierwelcomed his old comrade's son, when an hour later he entered the house, borne in the strong arms of his friend. A couch was ready for him, andeverything was made as simple and homelike as possible. Jeffreys stayedlong enough to help the boy into the civilised garments provided forhim, and then quietly betook himself once more to Storr Alley. 

The curiosity roused by the departure of `Black Sal's Forrester' in acab was redoubled when, late that afternoon, Jeffreys was seen walkingout of the alley with the baby in one arm and Tim holding onto theother. He had considered it best to make no public announcement of hisdeparture. If he had, he might have found it more difficult than it wasto take the important step. As it was, he had to run a gauntlet of ascore of inquisitive idlers, who were by no means satisfied with theassurance that he was going to give the children an airing. 

The general opinion seemed to be that he was about to take the childrento the workhouse, and a good deal of odium was worked up in consequence. Some went so far as to say he was going to sell or drown the infants;and others, Driver's Alley refugees, promised him a warm reception if hereturned without them! He neither returned with nor without them. Theysaw him no more. But it was given to the respectable inhabitants of acrescent near Regent's Park, about half an hour later, to witness thestrange spectacle of a big young man, carrying a small baby in his armsand a big one on his shoulder--for Tim had turned restive on his hands--walk solemnly along the footpath till he reached the door of ColonelAtherton's, where he rang. 

The colonel and Raby had a queer tea-party that evening. When the mealwas ended, Jeffreys was called upon to put his infants to bed, and awonderful experience to those small mortals was the warm bath and thefeather-bed to which they were severally introduced. Jeffreys wasthankful that the baby was restless, and gave him an excuse forremaining in retirement most of the evening. At length, however, silence reigned; and he had no further excuse. 

Entering the parlour, he perceived almost with a shock that Mr Rimboltwas there. He had called in accidentally, and had just been told thenews. 

"My dear fellow, " said he, as he took his old librarian's hand, "how wehave longed for this day!"

Raby and her father were occupied with Forrester, and Jeffreys and hisold employer were left undisturbed. 

What they talked about I need not repeat. It chiefly had reference toStorr Alley and to Percy. 

"He is down at Watford seeing a friend to-night. We expect him back to-morrow morning. How happy he will be! By the way, " added Mr Rimbolt, a moment afterwards, "now I remember, there is a train leaves Euston forOverstone at 12:30, half an hour after Percy's train comes in. Howshould you like to meet him, and run down with him for a week or two toWildtree? He sadly wants a change, and my books sadly want lookingafter there. You will have the place to yourselves, but perhaps youwon't mind that. "

Jeffreys flushed with pleasure at the proposal. It was the veryprogramme he would have selected. But for a moment his face clouded, ashe glanced towards Forrester. 

"I don't know whether I ought to leave him?"

"He is with his guardian, you know, and could not be in betterquarters. "

"Then--you know I have--that is, you know--there are two--babies. "

Raby, however, when the question was subsequently discussed, expressedherself fully equal to the care of these promising infants until a homecould be found for them; and Forrester, for his part, declared thatJeffreys must and should go to Wildtree. 

"Can't you see I don't want you any more?" said he. "This sofa's socomfortable, I'm certain I shall sleep a fortnight straight away, andthen my guardian and I have no end of business to talk over, haven't we, guardian? and you'd really be in the way. "

So it was settled. The whole party retired early to bed after theirexciting day. Jeffreys slept for the last time between the babies, andcould scarcely believe, when he awoke, that he was not still in StorrAlley. 

Still less could Tim when he awoke realise where he was. For the Johnhe was accustomed to stood no longer in his weather-beaten, tatteredgarments, but in the respectable librarian's suit which he had leftbehind him at Clarges Street, and which now, by some mysterious agency, found itself transferred to his present room. 

Tim resented the change, and bellowed vehemently for the space of anhour, being joined at intervals by his younger brother, and egged on bythe mocking laughter of young Forrester, who was enjoying the exhibitionfrom the adjoining chamber. 

For once Jeffreys could do nothing with his disorderly infants, and wascompelled finally to carry them down one under each arm, to the sitting-room, where Raby came to the rescue, and thus established her claim ontheir allegiance for a week or so to come. 

In a strange turmoil of feelings Jeffreys at mid-day walked to Euston. Mr Rimbolt was there with Percy's travelling bag and the tickets, buthe did not remain till the train from Watford came in. 

"I may be running down to the North myself in about a fortnight, " saidhe, as he bade good-bye; "we can leave business till then--good-bye. "

The train came in at last. Jeffreys could see the boy pacing in anonchalant way down the platform, evidently expecting anything but thismeeting. 

His eyes seemed by some strange perversity even to avoid the figurewhich stood waiting for him; nor was it till Jeffreys quietly stepped infront of him, and said "Percy, " that they took him in and blazed forth adelighted recognition. 

"Jeff, " he said, "you've come back--really?"

"Yes, really. "

"To stay--for good?"

"For good--old fellow. "

Percy heaved a sight of mighty content as he slipped his arm into thatof his friend. And half an hour later the two were whizzing northwardson their way to Wildtree, with their troubles all behind them. 

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. 

A FRESH START. 

It is supposed to be the duty of every well-conducted author, after thecurtain has fallen on the final tableau of his little drama, to lift it, or half lift it, for a momentary last glimpse at the principal actors. 

I am not quite sure whether this is not an encouragement to laziness onthe part of the reader. In most respects he is as well able to picturethe future of Jeffreys, and Raby, and Percy, and Tim as I am. 

I cannot show them to you in all the dignity of an honoured old age, because they are only a year or two older to-day than they were whenPercy and Jeffreys took that little run together down to Cumberland. Nor can I show them to you, after the fashion of a fairy tale, "marriedand living happily ever afterwards, " because when I met Jeffreys in theStrand the other day, he told me that although he had just beenappointed to the control of a great public library in the North, itwould still be some months, possibly a year, before he would be able toset up house on his own account. 

However, he seemed contented on the whole to wait a bit; and in a longtalk we had as we walked up and down the Embankment I heard a good manyscraps of information which made it possible to satisfy the reader onone or two points about which he may still be anxious. 

Jeffreys and Percy stayed at Wildtree for a month, and the time was oneof the happiest both of them ever spent. They did nothing exciting. They read some Aristophanes, and added some new "dodge" to theirwonderful automatic bookcase. They went up Wild Pike one brightwinter's day and had a glorious view from the top. And on the ledgecoming back they sat and rested awhile on a spot they both rememberedwell. Julius's grave was not forgotten when they reached the valleybelow; and the "J" upon the stone which marks the place to this day wastheir joint work for an hour that afternoon. 

As for the books, Jeffreys had sprung towards them on his first arrivalas a father springs towards his long-lost family. They were sadly inwant of dusting and arranging, as for a month or two no one had beennear them. On the floor lay the parcels, just as they had arrived fromthe sale in Exeter; and altogether Jeffreys had work enough to keep himbusy, not for one month only, but for several. He was not sorry to bebusy. For amid all the happiness and comforts of his new return to lifehe had many cares on his mind. 

There was Forrester. He had imagined that if he could only find him, all would be right, the past would be cancelled and his bad name wouldnever again trouble him. But as he thought of the helpless cripple, lying there unable to move without assistance, with all his prospectsblighted and his very life a burden to him, he began to realise that thepast was not cancelled, that he had a life's debt yet to pay, and alife's wrong for which, as far as possible, to make amends. But hebravely faced his duty. Forrester's letters, which came frequently, certainly did not much encourage melancholy reflections. 

"I'm in clover here, " the boy wrote about a week after Jeffreys had goneNorth. "One would think I'd done something awfully fine. My guardianis a trump--and is ever tired of telling me about my father. Do youknow I'm to have a pension from a grateful country? What wouldn't BlackSal say to get hold of me now? What I value quite as much is his sword, which I keep by my couch like a Knight Templar. So mind what you're upto when you come back. 

"Here am I writing about myself, when I know you are longing to hearabout (turn over-leaf and hide your blushes)--the babies! They are tip-top. Timothy, ever since I got my sword, has shown great respect forme, and sits on the pillow while I sketch. By the way, do you recogniseenclosed portrait? It's my first attempt at a face--rather a pleasantface too, eh? Oh, about the babies. The young 'un's cut a tooth. Thewhole house has been agitated in consequence, and the colonel is asproud as if he'd captured a province. So are we all. They are to go toan orphanage, I believe, in a week or two; but not till you come backand give your parental benediction. My guardian is going to write youall about it. He promises military openings for both when they arriveat the proper age; and Tim is practising already on a drum which _she_has given him. 

"She, by the way, never mentions you, which is an excellent sign, butrather rough on me when I want to talk about you. She occasionally isdrawn out to talk about a certain Mr John at Storr Alley; but, as youknow, she only knew about him from hearsay. How's that boy who has gothold of you down in Cumberland? Are he and I to be friends or enemies?Tell him I'm game for either, and give him choice of weapons if thelatter. But as long as he lets me see you now and then and treats youwell, we may as well be friends. I'm flourishing and awfully in love. Stay away as long as you can; you're not wanted here. The lady ofClarges Street came to see me yesterday. She sent you really a kindmessage; so even in that quarter you may yet look for a friend. Good-bye--remember me to that chap. Tim sends his duty; and _she_ when Imentioned I was writing to you and asked if there was any message, didnot hear what I said. --G. F. "

There was plenty in this bright letter to give comfort to Jeffreys. Herejoiced humbly in its affectionate tone towards himself. He treasuredthe portrait. He was gratified at the unenvious references to Percy, and he was relieved at the prospect before his babies. 

The part that referred to Raby left him less room for jubilation. Forrester evidently thought, as Percy did, that in that quartereverything was plain sailing. They neither of them realised the gulfbetween the two, and they neither of them knew of that miserable Octoberafternoon in Regent's Park. Forrester's jocular reference to Raby'ssilence and reserve seemed to Jeffreys but a confirmation of what hebelieved to be the truth. 

He was to her what any other friend in distress might be, an object ofsweet pity and solicitude. But that was all. He had a bad name, andmuch as she would brave for him to help him, she did not--how couldshe?--love him. 

At the end of a month Mr Rimbolt wrote to say he was coming down toWildtree, and would be glad if Percy and Jeffreys would meet him withthe carriage at Overstone. 

They did so, and found that he was not alone. Mr Halgrove steppedpleasantly out of the train at the same time and greeted his quondamward with characteristic ease. 

"Ah, Jeffreys--here we are again. I'm always meeting you at odd places. How fresh everything looks after the rain!"

"Mr Halgrove is my brother-in-law, you know, Jeffreys, " said MrRimbolt, in response to his librarian's blank look of consternation. "Ibrought him down, as he wanted to see you and have a talk. If you twowould like to walk, " added he, "Percy and I will drive on, and havedinner ready by the time you arrive. "

"Good-hearted fellow, Rimbolt, " said Mr Halgrove, as they started towalk, "he always was. That's Wild Pike, I suppose?"

"Yes, " said Jeffreys, greatly puzzled at this unexpected meeting. 

"Yes, Rimbolt's a good fellow; and doesn't mind telling bad fellows thatthey aren't. You'll smile, Jeffreys; but he has actually made meuncomfortable sometimes. "

"Really?" said Jeffreys, thinking it must have been some very remarkableeffort which succeeded in accomplishing, that wonder. 

"Yes. I told him once casually about an unpleasant ward I once had, whom I rather disliked. I thought he would sympathise with me when Irelated how delicately I had got rid of him and sent him adrift when itdid not suit me to keep him any longer. Would you believe it, Rimboltwasn't at all sympathetic, but asked what had become of my ward's money!Do take warning, Jeffreys, and avoid the bad habit of askinginconvenient questions. You have no idea of the pain they may cause. Mr Rimbolt's question pained me excessively. Because my ward's money, like himself, had gone to the bad. That would not have been of muchconsequence, were it not that I was responsible for its going to thebad. It was most inconvenient altogether, I assure you. It made mefeel as if I had behaved not quite well in the matter; and you know howdepressing such a feeling would be. Still more inconvenient at the timewhen I had this talk with Rimbolt about six months ago, I had just comeback from America with my finances in not at all a flourishingcondition, so that if even I had been disposed to refund my ward, Icould not have done it. Happily he was lost. It was an immense reliefto me, I can assure you. 

"Two months ago my finances looked up. I had news that some of myYankee speculations were turning out well, and I unexpectedly foundmyself a man of means again. Rimbolt, who certainly has the knack ofmaking ill-timed suggestions, proposed that that would be a goodopportunity for making good what properly belonged to my ward. I urgedin vain that my ward was lost, and that the money properly belonged tome as a reward for the trouble I had had in the matter. He actuallyinsisted that I should deposit with him, as trustee for my ward, thefull amount of what belonged to him, with interest added to date, promising if by any unfortunate accident the fellow should be found, tosee it came into his hands. One's obliged to humour Rimbolt, so I didwhat he wanted, and that's how it stands. If ever this unprofitableward turns up, he'd better keep his eye on Rimbolt. 

"There, you see, Jeffreys, that's just a little anecdote to show you howeasy it is, by being inconsiderate, for one person to make anotheruncomfortable. But now tell me how you like Cumberland. You must bequite a mountaineer by this time. "

Jeffreys admitted he was pretty good, and had the tact to suit hishumour to that of his guardian, and not refer further to the lost wardor his money. 

Mr Halgrove stayed two days, and then departed for the Great West, where it is possible he may to-day carry a lighter heart about with himfor his latest act of reparation. 

Before the trio at Wildtree returned to London, Jeffreys, greatly toPercy's terror, asked leave to go for two days to York. The boy seemedstill not quite sure that he had got back his friend for good, andhighly disapproved now of putting the temptation to "bolt again, " as hecalled it, in his way. However, Jeffreys "entered into recognisances"to come back, and even offered to take Percy with him on his journey. The offer was not accepted, for Percy knew Jeffreys would sooner goalone. But it allayed the boy's uneasiness. 

Jeffreys had much trouble to discover Mrs Trimble. Galloway House wasstill an educational establishment, but its present conductor knewnothing of the lady whose "goodwill and connection" he had purchased socheaply two years ago. 

Finally Jeffreys decided to call at Ash Cottage. The walk up thatfamiliar lane recalled many a strange memory. The bank whereon he hadsat that eventful early morning was unchanged, and had lost all tracesof Jonah's excavations. The railway embankment he had half thought ofhelping to construct was already overgrown with grass, and thunderedunder the weight of trains every few minutes. 

Ash Cottage had not changed a plank or a tile since he last saw it. There were the same cracks in the wall of the shed, the same bushes oneither side of the gate--nay, he was sure those wisps of hay clinging tothe branches of the holly had been there two years ago. 

As he walked somewhat doubtfully towards the house--for he could hardlyforget under what circumstances he had last seen Farmer Rosher--he hearda boy's shout behind him, and looking round, perceived Freddy and Teddygiving chase. 

"It _is_ Jeff!" shouted Freddy. "I knew him a mile away. "

"I saw him first. We knew you'd come back, Jeff; huzzah!"

"That tricycle wants looking to awful bad. Our feet touch the ground onit now, Jeff. "

"Come on to the shed, I say, and put it right. _How_ brickish of you tocome back, Jeff!"

A long afternoon the happy Jeff spent over that intractable tricycle. It was past all repair; but no feat of engineering was ever applauded aswere the one or two touches by which he contrived to make it standupright and bear the weight of a boy. Before the work was over FarmerRosher had joined them, well pleased at his boys' delight. 

"Thee's paid oop for thy sin, lad, " said he. "I did thee and the ladsmore harm than I meant; but thee's a home here whenever thee likes, tomake up for it; and come away and see the missus and have a drop oftea. "

From the farmer, who may have had good reason for knowing, Jeffreyslearned that Mrs Trimble was comfortably quartered in an almshouse; andthere, next morning--for there was do escaping from Ash Cottage thatnight--he found her, and soothed her with the news he had to tell of herpoor prodigal. 

"Well, well, " she said, "God is merciful; and He will reward you, John, as He had pity on the lad. And now will you be sure and take a mother'sblessing to the sweet lady, and tell her if she ever wants to make anold woman happy, he has only to come here, and let me see her and kissher for what she has done for me and mine?"

That message he delivered a week later as he walked with Raby oneafternoon in Regent's Park. It was not exactly a chance walk. They hadboth been up to the orphanage at Hampstead with the reluctant Tim andhis brother, to leave them there in good motherly hands till thetroubles of infancy should be safely passed. 

It was Tim who had insisted on having the escort of both his naturalguardians on the occasion; and at such a time and on such an errandTim's word was law. So they had gone all four in a cab, and now Rabyand Jeffreys returned, and with a sense of bereavement, through thePark. 

"I will certainly go and see Mrs Trimble when next I am North, " saidRaby, "though I wish I deserved half her gratitude. "

"You deserve it all. You were an angel of light to that poor fellow. "

They walked on some way in silence. Then she said--

"Storr Alley is so different now, Mr Jeffreys. A family of seven is inyour garret. You would hardly know the place. "

"It would be strange indeed if I did not, for I too saw light there. "

"How wonderful it all was!" said Raby. 

"When Jonah was telling me about his good protector, John, how little Idreamed it was you!"

"And when you wrote this little letter, " said he, showing her theprecious scrap of paper, "how little you dreamed who would bless you forit!"

"The blessing belonged, did it not, to Him Who has been leading us all, in mercy, in His own way?"

Again they walked in silence. 

Was it accident, or what, which brought them, without knowing it, to aspot which to each was full of painful memories?

Raby was the first to stop abruptly. 

"Let us go another way, Mr Jeffreys, if you don't mind. I don't likethis avenue. "

"No more do I, " said Jeffreys, who had stopped too. 

"Why?" she asked. 

"Need I say?"

"Not if you don't like. "

"I have not walked down here since an afternoon last October. There wasa sudden storm of rain--"

"What! Were you here then?"

"I was. You did not see me. "

"You saw me then. I was with Mr Scarfe. "

"Yes. You were--"

"Miserable and angry, " said she, her face kindling at the recollection. 

He darted one glance at her, as brief as that he had darted on theafternoon of which they spoke. 

Then, he had read nothing but despair for himself; now, though her eyeswere downcast and her voice angry, he thought he read hope. 

"Suppose, " said he, in a little while, "instead of running away from thepath, we just walk down it together. Would you mind? Are you afraid?"

"No, " she said, smiling. And they walked on. 

THE END.