St. Winifred's; or, The World of School

by F. W. Farrar

  CHAPTER EIGHT.

  THE BURNT MANUSCRIPT.

  All All my poor scrapings, from a dozen years Of dust and desk-work.

  Sea Dreams.

  It may be supposed that during chapel the next morning, and when he wentinto early school, Walter was in an agony of almost unendurablesuspense; and this suspense was doomed to be prolonged for some time,until at last he could hardly sit still. Mr Paton did not at oncenotice that his desk was broken. He laid down his books, and went on asusual with the morning lesson.

  At length Tracy was put on. He stood up in his usual self-satisfiedway, looking admiringly at his boots, and running his delicate whitehand through his scented hair. Mr Paton watched him with a somewhatcontemptuous expression, as though he were thinking what a pity it wasthat any boy should be such a little puppy. Henderson, with his usualquick discrimination, had nicknamed Tracy the "Lisping Hawthornbud."

  "Your fifth failure this week, Tracy; you must do the usual punishment,"said Mr Paton, taking up his key to unlock the desk.

  "Now for it," thought all the form, looking on with great anxiety.

  The key caught hopelessly in the broken lock. Mr Paton's attention wasaroused; he pushed the lid off the desk, and saw at once that it hadbeen broken open.

  "Who has broken open my desk?"

  No answer.

  He looked very grave, but said nothing, looking for his imposition-book.

  "Where is my imposition-book?"

  No answer.

  "And where is my--?"

  Mr Paton stopped, and looked with the greatest eagerness over everycorner of the desk.

  "Where is the manuscript I left here with my imposition-book?" he saidin a tone of the most painful anxiety.

  "I do hope and trust," he said, turning pale, "that none of you havebeen wicked enough to injure it," and here his voice faltered. "When Itell you that it was of the utmost value, I am sure that if any of youhave concealed or taken it, you will give it back at once."

  There was deep silence.

  "Once again," he asked, "where is my imposition-book?"

  "Burnt, sir; burnt, sir," said one or two voices, hardly above awhisper.

  "And my manuscript?" he asked, in a louder voice, and in still greateragitation. "Surely, surely, you cannot have been so thoughtless, soincredibly unjust as to--"

  Walter stood up in his place, with his head bent, and his face coveredwith an ashy whiteness. "I burnt it, sir," he said, in an almostinaudible voice, and trembling with fear.

  "Come here," said Mr Paton impetuously; "I can't hear what you say.Now, then," he continued, as Walter crept up beside his desk.

  "I burnt it, sir," he said, in a whisper.

  "You--burnt--it!" said Mr Paton, starting up in uncontrollable emotion,which changed into a burst of anger as he gave Walter a box on the earwhich sounded all over the room, and made the boy stagger back to hisplace. But the flash of rage was gone in an instant; and the nextmoment Mr Paton, afraid of trusting himself any longer, left his deskand hurried out, anxious to recover in solitude the calmness of mind andaction which had been so terribly disturbed.

  Mr Percival, who taught his form in another part of the room, seeingMr Paton box Walter so violently on the ear, and knowing that this wasthe very reverse of his usual method, since he had never before toucheda boy in anger, walked up to see what was the matter, just as Mr Paton,with great hurried strides, had reached the door.

  "What is the matter with Mr Paton?" he asked.

  There was a general murmur through the form, out of which Mr Percivalcaught something about Mr Paton's papers having been burnt.

  Anxious to fend him, to ask what had happened, Mr Percival, leaving theroom, caught sight of him pacing with hasty and uneven steps along aprivate garden walk which belonged to the masters.

  "I hope nothing unpleasant has occurred," he said, overtaking him.

  "Oh, nothing, nothing," said Mr Paton, with quivering lip, as he turnedaside. And then, suppressing his emotion by a powerful effort ofself-control, "It is only," he said, "that the hard results of fifteenyears' continuous labour are now condensed into a heap of smut and ashesin the schoolroom fire."

  "You don't mean to say that your Hebrew manuscripts are burnt?" askedMr Percival in amazement.

  "You know how I have been toiling at them for years, Percival; you knowthat I began them before I left college, that I regarded them as thechief work of my life, and that I devoted to them every moment of myleisure. You know, too, the pride and pleasure which I took in theirprogress, and the relief with which I turned to them from the vexationsand anxieties of one's life here. To work at them has been for years myonly recreation and delight. Well, they were finished at last; I wasonly correcting them for the press; they would have gone to the printerin a month, and I should have lived to complete a toilsome andhonourable task. Well, the dream is over, and a handful of ashesrepresents the struggle of my best years."

  Mr Percival knew well that his coadjutor had been working for years ata commentary on the Hebrew text of the Four Greater Prophets. It hadbeen the cherished and chosen task of his life; he had brought to itgreat stores of learning, accumulated in the vigour of his powers, andthe enthusiasm of a youthful ambition, and he had employed upon it everyspare hour left him from his professional duties. He looked to it asthe means of doing essential service to the church of which he was anordained member, and, secondarily, as the road to reputation andwell-merited advancement. And in five minutes the hand of one angry boyhad robbed him of the fruit of all his hopes.

  "If they wanted to display the hatred which I well know that they feel,"said Mr Paton bitterly, "they might have chosen any way, literally _anyway_, but that. They might have left me, at least, that which wasalmost my only pleasure and object in life, and which had no connectionwith them or their pursuits." And his face grew haggard as he stoppedin his walk, and tried to realise the extent of what he had lost. "Iwould rather have seen everything I possess in the whole world destroyedthan that," he said slowly, and with strong emotion.

  "And was it really Evson who did this?" asked Mr Percival, filled withthe sincerest pity for his colleague's wounded feelings.

  "It matters little who did it, Percival; but, yes, it was your friendEvson."

  "The little, graceless, abominable wretch!" exclaimed Mr Percival withanger, "he must be expelled. But can't you recommence the task?"

  "Recommence?" said Mr Paton, in a hard voice; "and who will give meback the hope and vigour of the last fifteen years? how shall I have theheart again to toil through the same long trains of research andthought? where are the hundreds of references which I had sought out andverified with hours of heavy midnight labour? how am I to have accessagain to the scores of books which I consulted before I began to work?The very thought of it sickens me. Youth and hope are over. No,Percival, there is no more to be said. I am robbed of a life's work.Leave me, please, alone for a little, until I have learnt to say lessbitterly, `God's will be done.'"

  "`He needeth not Either man's work or his own gifts; who best Bear his mild yoke they please him best,'"

  said Mr Percival, in a tone of kind and deep sympathy, as he left himto return to the schoolroom.

  But once in sight of Mr Paton's open and rifled desk, Mr Percival'spent-up indignation burst forth into clear flame. Stopping in front ofMr Paton's form, he exclaimed, in a voice that rang with scorn andsorrow--

  "You boys do not know the immense mischief which your thoughtless andworthless spite and folly have caused. I say `boys,' but I believe, andrejoice to believe, that one only of you is guilty, and I rejoice too,that _that_ one is a new boy, who must have brought here feelings andpassions more worthy of an ignorant and ill-trained plough-boy than of aSaint Winifred's scholar. The hand that would burn a valuablemanuscript would fire a rick of hay."

  "O sir," said Henderson, starting up and interrupting him, "we were allvery nearly as bad. It was the rest of us that burnt theimposition-book; Evson
had nothing to do with that." Henderson hadforgotten for the moment that he at least had had no share in burningthe imposition-book, for his warm quick heart could not bear that theseblows should fall unbroken on his friend's head.

  But his generous effort failed; for Mr Percival, barely noticing theinterruption, continued, "The imposition-book? I know nothing aboutthat. If you burnt it you were very foolish and reckless; you deserveno doubt to be punished for it, but that was _comparatively_ nothing.But do you know, bad boy," he said, turning again to Walter, "do youknow what _you_ have done? Do you know that your dastardly spitefulnesshas led you to destroy writings which had cost your master years andyears of toil that cannot be renewed? He treated you with unswervingimpartiality; he never punished you but when you deserved punishment,and when he believed it to be for your good, and yet you turn upon himin this adder-like way; you break open his desk like a thief, and, inone moment of despicable ill-temper, you rob him and the world of thatwhich had been the pursuit and object of his life. You, Evson, may wellhide your face"--for Walter had bent over the desk, and in agonies ofshame and remorse had covered his face with both hands--"you may well beashamed to look either at me or at any honest and manly and right-mindedboy among your companions. You have done a wrong for which it will beyears hence a part of your retribution to remember that nothing you canever do can repair it, or do away with its effects. I am more thandisappointed with you. You have done mischief which the utmost workingof all your powers cannot for years counterbalance, if, instead of beingas base and idle as you now appear to be, you were to devote your wholeheart to work. I don't know what will be done to you; I, for my part,hope that you will not be suffered to remain with us; but, if you are, Iam sure that you will receive, as you richly deserve, the reprobationand contempt of every boy among your schoolfellows who is capable of onespark of honour or right feeling."

  Every word that Mr Percival had said came to poor Walter with the mostpoignant force; all the master's reproaches pierced his heart and letblood. He sat there not stirring, stunned and crushed, as though he hadbeen beaten by the blows of a hammer. He quailed and shuddered to thinkof the great and cruel injustice, the base and grievous injury intowhich his blind passion had betrayed him, and thought that he couldnever hold up his head again.

  Mr Percival's indignant expostulation passed over the other culpritswho heard it like a thunderstorm. There was a force and impetuosity inthis gentleman's manner, when his anger was kindled, which had longgained for him among the boys, with whom he was the most popularof all the masters, the half-complimentary soubriquet of"Thunder-and-lightning." But none of them had ever before heard himspeak with such concentrated energy and passion, and all except generouslittle Henderson were awed by it into silence. But Henderson at thatmoment was wholly absorbed in Walter's sorrows.

  "Tell him," said he in Walter's ear, "tell him it was all a mistake,that you thought the papers were old exercises. Dear Walter, tell himbefore he goes."

  But Walter still rested with his white cheeks on his hands upon thedesk, and neither moved nor spoke. And Mr Percival, turningindignantly upon his heel, with one last glance of unmitigated contempt,had walked off to his own form.

  "Walter, don't take it to heart so," said Henderson, putting his armround his neck; "you couldn't help it; you made a sad mistake, that'sall. Go and tell Paton so, and I'm sure he'll forgive you."

  A slight quiver was all that showed that Walter heard. Henderson wouldhave liked to see his anguish relieved by a burst of tears; but thetears did not come, and Walter did not move.

  At last a hand touched him, and he heard the voice of the head boy sayto him, "Get up, Evson; I'm to take you to Dr Lane with a note from MrPercival."

  He rose and followed mechanically, waiting in the headmaster's porchwhile the monitor went in.

  "Dr Lane won't see you now," said Somers, coming out again. "Croft,"(addressing the school Famulus), "Dr Lane says you're to lock up MrEvson by himself in the private room."

  Walter followed the Famulus to the private room, a little room at thetop of the house, where he knew that boys were locked previous toexpulsion, that they might have no opportunity for doing any mischiefbefore they went.

  The Famulus left him here, and returned a few minutes after with somedry bread and milk, which he placed on the deal table, which, with awooden chair, constituted the sole furniture of the room; he then lockedthe door, and left Walter finally to his own reflections.

  Then it was that flood after flood of passionate tears seemed to removethe iron cramp which had pained his heart. He flung himself on thefloor, and as he thought of the irreparable cruelty which he hadinflicted on a man who had been severe indeed, but never unkind to him,and of the apparent malignity to which all who heard it would attributewhat he had done, he sobbed and sobbed as though his heart would break.

  At one o'clock the Famulus returned with some dinner. He found Waltersitting at a corner of the room, his head resting against the angle ofthe wall, and his eyes red and inflamed with long crying. The morning'smeal still lay untasted on the table.

  He looked round with a commiserating glance. "Come, come, MasterEvson," he said, "you've no call to give way so, sir. If you've donewrong, the wrong's done now, and frettin' won't help it. There's themabove as'll forgive you, and make you do better next time, lad, if youonly knew it. Here, you must eat some of this dinner, Master Evson, andleave off cryin' so; cryin's no comfort, sir."

  He stood by and waited on Walter with the greatest kindness and respect,till he had seen him swallow some food, not without difficulty, and thenwith encouraging and cheerful words left him, and once more locked thedoor.

  The weary afternoon wore on, and Walter sat mournfully alone withnothing but miserable thoughts--miserable to whatever subject he turnedthem, and more miserable the longer he dwelt on them. As the shades ofevening drew in he felt his head swimming, and the long solitude madehim feel afraid as he wondered whether they would leave him there allnight. And then he heard a light step approach the door, and a gentletap. He made no answer, for he thought he knew the step, and he couldnot summon up voice to speak for a fit of sobbing which it brought on.Then he heard the boy stoop down, and push a note under the door.

  He took it up when he heard the footsteps die away, and by the fastfailing light was just able to make it out. It ran thus--

  "Dear Walter,--You can't think how sorry, how very, very sorry I am for you. I wish I could be with you and take part of your punishment. Forgive me for being cold and proud to you. I have been longing to speak to you all the time, but felt too shy. It was all my fault. I will never break with you again. Good-bye, dear Walter, from your ever and truly affectionate, Harry Kenrick."

  "He will never break with me again," thought Walter. "If I'm to goto-morrow I'm afraid he'll never have the chance." And then his saddestthoughts reverted to the home which he had left so recently for thefirst time, and to which he was to return with nothing but dishonour anddisgrace.

  At six o'clock the kind-hearted Famulus brought him a lamp, some tea,and one or two books, which he had no heart to read. No one was allowedto visit the private room under heavy penalties, so that Walter had noother visitor until eight, when Somers, the monitor who had taken him toDr Lane, looked in and icily observed, "You're to sleep in thesickroom, Evson; come with me."

  "Am I expelled, Somers?" he faltered out.

  "I don't know," said Somers in a freezing tone; "you deserve to be."

  True! oh lofty and pitiless Somers. But is that all which you couldfind to say to the poor boy in his distress? And if we _all_ had ourdeserts...?

  "At any rate," Somers added, "I for one won't have you as a fag anylonger, and I shouldn't think that anyone else would either."

  With which cutting remark he left Walter to his reflections.