Wilfrid Cumbermede Part 30

'Come, Charley,' I said, and at the moment a fresh wave of manhood swept through my soul; 'you and I will take our share together a hundred times yet. I have done my part now; yours will come next.'

'But to think of not sharing your disgrace, Wilfrid!'

'Disgrace!' I said, drawing myself up, 'where was that?'

'You've been beaten,' he said.

'Every stripe was a badge of honour,' I said, 'for I neither deserved it nor cried out against it. I feel no disgrace.'

'Well, I've missed the honour,' said Charley; 'but that's nothing, so you have it. But not to share your disgrace would have been mean. And it's all one; for I thought it was disgrace, and I did not share it. I am a coward for ever, Wilfrid.'

'Nonsense! He never gave you a chance. _I_ never thought of striking back: how should _you?_'

'I will be your slave, Wilfrid! You are _so_ good, and I am _so_ unworthy.'

He put his arms round me, laid his head on my shoulder, and sobbed. I did what more I could to comfort him, and gradually he grew calm. At length he whispered in my ear--

'After all, Wilfrid, I do believe I was horror-struck, and it _wasn't_ cowardice pure and simple.'

'I haven't a doubt of it,' I said. 'I love you more than ever.'

'Oh, Wilfrid! I should have gone mad by this time but for you. Will you be my friend whatever happens?--Even if I should be a coward after all?'

'Indeed I will, Charley.--What do you think Forest will do next?'

We resolved not to go down until we were sent for; and then to be perfectly quiet, not speaking to any one unless we were spoken to; and at dinner we carried out our resolution.

When bed-time came, we went as usual to make our bow to Mr Forest.

'c.u.mbermede,' he said sternly, 'you sleep in No. 5 until further orders.'

'Very well, sir,' I said, and went, but lingered long enough to hear the fate of Charley.

'Home,' said Mr Forest, 'you go to No. 3.'

That was our room.

'Home,' I said, having lingered on the stairs until he appeared, 'you don't bear me a grudge, do you?'

'It was my fault,' said Home. 'I had no right to pitch into you. Only you're such a cool beggar! But, by Jove! I didn't think Forest would have been so unfair. If you forgive me, I'll forgive you.'

'If I hadn't stood up to you, I couldn't,' I returned. 'I knew I hadn't a chance. Besides, I hadn't any breakfast.'

'I was a brute,' said Home.

'Oh, I don't mind for myself; but there's...o...b..rne! I wonder you could hit _him_.'

'He shouldn't have jawed me,' said Home.

'But you did first.'

We had reached the door of the room which had been Home's and was now to be mine, and went in together.

'Didn't you now?' I insisted.

'Well, I did; I confess I did. And it was very plucky of him.'

'Tell him that, Home,' I said. 'For G.o.d's sake tell him that. It will comfort him. You must be kind to him, Home. We're not so bad as Forest takes us for.'

'I will,' said Home.

And he kept his word.

We were never allowed to share the same room again, and school was not what it had been to either of us.

Within a few weeks Charley's father, to our common dismay, suddenly appeared, and the next morning took him away. What he said to Charley I do not know. He did not take the least notice of me, and I believe would have prevented Charley from saying good-bye to me. But just as they were going Charley left his father's side, and came up to me with a flush on his face and a flash in his eye that made him look more manly and handsome than I had ever seen him, and shook hands with me, saying--

'It's all right--isn't it, Wilfrid?'

'It _is_ all right, Charley, come what will,' I answered.

'Good-bye then, Wilfrid.'

'Good-bye, Charley.'

And so we parted.

I do not care to say one word more about the school. I continued there for another year and a half. Partly in misery, partly in growing eagerness after knowledge, I gave myself to my studies with more diligence. Mr Forest began to be pleased with me, and I have no doubt plumed himself on the vigorous measures by which he had nipped the bud of my infidelity. For my part I drew no nearer to him, for I could not respect or trust him after his injustice. I did my work for its own sake, uninfluenced by any desire to please him. There was, in fact, no true relation between us any more.

I communicated nothing of what had happened to my uncle, because Mr Forest's custom was to read every letter before it left the house. But I longed for the day when I could tell the whole story to the great, simple-hearted man.

CHAPTER XXIII.

ONLY A LINK.

Before my return to England, I found that familiarity with the sights and sounds of a more magnificent nature had removed my past life to a great distance. What had interested my childhood had strangely dwindled, yet gathered a new interest from its far-off and forsaken look. So much did my past wear to me now the look of something read in a story, that I am haunted with a doubt whether I may not have communicated too much of this appearance to my description of it, although I have kept as true as my recollections would enable me. The outlines must be correct: if the colouring be unreal, it is because of the haze which hangs about the memories of the time.

The revisiting of old scenes is like walking into a mausoleum.

Everything is a monument of something dead and gone. For we die daily.

Happy those who daily come to life as well!

I returned with a clear conscience, for not only had I as yet escaped corruption, but for the greater part of the time at least I had worked well. If Mr Forest's letter which I carried to my uncle contained any hint intended to my disadvantage, it certainly fell dead on his mind; for he treated me with a consideration and respect which at once charmed and humbled me.

One day as we were walking together over the fields, I told him the whole story of the loss of the weapon at Moldwarp Hall. Up to the time of my leaving for Switzerland I had shrunk from any reference to the subject, so painful was it to me, and so convinced was I that his sympathy would be confined to a compa.s.sionate smile and a few words of condolence.