Louis' School Days Part 40

Dr. Berry signified his ready acquiescence; and Dr. Wilkinson turned to Hamilton:

"It is just school-time," he said; "but I wish you, after school, to make a search in every desk for your poem. I do not imagine it is destroyed. Mr. James will a.s.sist you. In the mean time, in the event of your poem not being discovered, you had better rewrite it as well as you can; I will give you till nine o'clock on the last morning."

Hamilton bowed, thanked his master, and retired, exceedingly uncomfortable. His own loss was slight compared with the vexation he felt at any suspicion of Frank's honor being raised. A very different surmise would now and then try to rise in his own mind, but was vigorously opposed as ungenerous in the extreme. An idea of the real culprit never once occurred to him, nor to any other person. The first cla.s.s being disengaged that afternoon, Hamilton employed himself with the new edition of his poem, but his thoughts wandered; and, had it not been for a good memory and the force of habitual concentration, he would have found it almost impossible to resume a task he had considered as finished, in circ.u.mstances so very disagreeable to him.

As soon as the business of the day was concluded Dr. Wilkinson commanded every one to remain in his place, and then desired Hamilton to begin the search, carefully refraining from mentioning the object in quest. There was considerable excitement in the school when the doctor's command was made known, and it was strictly enforced, that no one should touch the desks till after the search had been made.

"Frank Digby, come here!" shouted the doctor from his post. "Did I not desire that none of those desks should be touched at present?"

"I was only putting my slate away, sir," said Frank, in much amazement.

"I will not have your desk touched; stay here."

"What's in the wind?" muttered Jones, sulkily. "The magister's in a splendid humor. What do you want in my desk, Hamilton?"

"A trick has been played on me," said Hamilton, hastily; "my poem has been exchanged; but--" he added, hesitating, "I cannot bear this."

"Nonsense, Hamilton!" said Mr. James, who was turning over the contents of Jones's desk. "There is nothing there."

"Stand back, and let Hamilton look, pray!" exclaimed Reginald Mortimer.

"What a shame it is!--you don't suspect _us_, Hamilton?"

"_To be sure not!_" said Hamilton, warmly; "but I am desired to do this."

"So much the better," said Salisbury; "you'll find mine locked, but here are my keys: we'll go up to the doctor. I say, Hamilton, don't upset my bottle of lemon kali, or my blue ink; you mightn't see them, perhaps, among the other things."

Hamilton took the keys with some embarra.s.sment, and the first cla.s.s moved in a body to the upper end of the room, where they remained till every desk had been subjected to a fruitless ransacking.

Louis' state of mind may be easily imagined. He had guessed the reason of the doctor's command the instant it was given; and had also heard the few words that pa.s.sed between Hamilton and his friends. Oh! what would he have given that he had considered before he committed such folly! He could not bear to face Hamilton, and yet he must be near him when his own desk was examined, for he dared not move from his place.

He had looked carefully there himself, but still he was afraid it might, by chance, be there. He hardly dared look round, for fear he should betray his secret; and yet his distress sadly longed for vent. "I did not mean to do any harm," was his reiterated thought; "I am sure, I thought it was a letter--I did not mean it." And then he wished to confess his fault; but, with his usual vacillation of purpose, he deferred it, till he should see how things went. It did seem strange that, with all the lessons he had had, he should have put off his confession; yet he dared not, and tried to quiet his conscience with, "I shall tell Hamilton alone;" and, "It's no use telling, when I can't find the poem." But his trouble was tenfold increased when Hamilton and Mr. James came near him, and finding his desk locked, inquired who's it was, and where the keys were.

Hamilton remarked in a low tone, not aware that Louis was so near, "I suppose for form's sake we must look, but I am sure, poor fellow, he has nothing to do with it."

Louis just then handed his key; and, as Hamilton's hand came in contact with his, he was struck by its cold clamminess, and just looking at him, noticed the troubled expression, and the almost tearful eyes that were fixed on him. He attributed Louis' anxiety to his natural timidity, as well as to his having probably overheard the remark on himself; and his heart smote him, for he still loved him, and had felt once or twice lately, that he had not done his duty towards him.

The poem was not found. Louis ran out into the playground, despite the cold and twilight, to cry; and hurried in again in a few minutes, for fear of discovery. The members of the first cla.s.s gathered round Hamilton to learn the story and to condole with him, and even Trevannion made some remark on the shamefulness of such a trick.

"I am sure, whoever gets the prize will not feel comfortable unless your poem is found and compared," said Frank; "write away, Hamilton; no one shall disturb you. I don't wonder Fudge was in such a pa.s.sion."

Louis was very glad when bed-time came, and he could hide his tears and misery under the bed-clothes. Reginald had been too busy to notice that any thing was the matter with him; but Hamilton, occupied as he was, had seen it, though Louis had kept out of his way as much as possible. He dared not tell Reginald his trouble; and he felt afraid to pray--he did not remember that, though our Heavenly Father knows all our thoughts and wants, He requires that all our care and sin should be poured out before Him. The Christian does not love sin; and when, through unwatchfulness or neglect of prayer, he has been betrayed into the commission of it, let him remember, that He alone can remove it and restore peace to his wounded conscience, who has said, "Return, ye backsliding children, and I will heal your backslidings."

Louis got on very ill the next Wednesday, and Reginald, extremely vexed, spoke very angrily to him. Louis answered as unkindly, and walked proudly away from him to the other end of the school-room, where, in spite of his abhorrence of such company, he was soon surrounded by his worst companions. Hamilton was standing near Reginald at the time; he watched Louis in his proud descent, and saw that, though he turned away with an erect head and high words, his step soon grew more listless, and an expression of indefinable weariness usurped the place of the independence he had a.s.sumed.

"Louis is unwell, I am sure, Reginald," he said.

"He is well enough," said Reginald, abruptly; "but he is sadly altered: I never saw a boy so changed. He is quite ill-tempered now, and so horridly idle. Why, Hamilton, you'd never believe that in to-day's examination in _Prometheus Vinctus_, he got down below Harris!--he's positively at the bottom. He hardly answered any thing, and seemed quite stupefied."

"The more reason to think he's not well," said Hamilton; "for, to my certain knowledge, he would have stood an examination on Prometheus better than that, a week after we came back. Why, Harris and Peters, and half the rest, are not to be compared with him."

"I know it," said Reginald; "and that makes it the more vexatious.

It's bad enough to think that Clifton should get ahead of him, but one may comfort one's self in the idea of his genius; but when it comes to those donkeyfied ignorami, it is past endurance. He has not tried a bit: I have seen him lately with his book before him, dreaming about some wonderful story of some enchanted a.s.s, or some giantess Mamouka, I suppose; or imagining some new ode to some incomprehensible, un-come-at-able Dulcinea. He is always shutting himself up in his air-castles, and expecting that dry Latin and Greek, and other such miserable facts, will penetrate his atmosphere."

"Don't be angry with him; something is the matter. You only drive him to herd with those boys," said Hamilton. "Look there!--there they are!--oh, Reginald! it is not right to leave him with them."

"Speak to him yourself, Hamilton," said Reginald, a little sobered.

"He will mind you. You have had a great deal to bear with him, but I know you make allowances."

Hamilton did not reply, but he had determined on making the effort to detach Louis from his evil counsellors, when the latter suddenly left the room with Ca.s.son, and did not return till Hamilton had gone into the cla.s.s-room.

Ca.s.son was the only one to whom Louis could relieve his mind on the subject that weighed him down so heavily--and he had, at the time Hamilton was watching him so intently, been whispering some of his fears, only to be laughed at. Suddenly he paused--"Ca.s.son, just come with me; I think I recollect--yes, surely--"

He did not wait to conclude his sentence, but, pulling Ca.s.son into the hall, sought his great-coat, dived to the bottom of the pocket, and, to his great joy, drew forth Hamilton's poem.

"It's here! it's here! it's here!" he cried. "How could I have put it here without knowing? Oh, my dear Ca.s.son, I am _so_ glad!"

"Well, what now?" said Ca.s.son, rudely. "What good is it? What do you mean to do with it?"

"Give it back, of course--I think Hamilton will forgive me, and if not, I _must_ give it back to him, and then, perhaps, I shall be happy again; for I have not been happy for a long, long while: I have been very wrong," he added, in a low, sorrowful tone.

"If ever I saw such a sap in my life," said Ca.s.son; "this comes of all your fine boasting; a nice fellow you are--why you're afraid of your own shadow! Do you know what you'll get if you give it back?"

"Whatever happens," said Louis, "I feel I have done wrong--wrong in listening to you, too, Ca.s.son. Oh, if ever it please G.o.d to make me happy again, I hope I shall be more careful! I have been afraid to do right--I am afraid to think of all that has happened lately."

"I always thought you were a canting hypocrite," said Ca.s.son, sneeringly. "I never see that you religious people do any better than any one else. Go and get a thras.h.i.+ng, as you deserve, for your cowardice, only don't tell any lies about me. Remember it was all your own doing."

Ca.s.son opened the hall-door as he spoke, and ran into the playground, where most of the boys had a.s.sembled, the weather having cleared a little for the first time for the last two days.

Louis sat down on a chair to think what he should do, and the long-restrained tears coursed slowly down his face. His first and best thought was to go at once to Hamilton, acknowledge his fault, and restore the poem. Then came the idea of renewed disgrace, and his head sunk lower on his breast, and the parcel fell from his powerless hands. So intense was his grief, that he was as unconscious that Dr. Wilkinson pa.s.sed through the hall while he sat there, as that he had heard the conversation between himself and Ca.s.son; for, unknown to them both, he had been in a recess of the hall, nearly covered by the cloaks and coats, looking there for something in a little corner closet. Louis at last took up the paper, and went to Hamilton's room; but a servant was there, and he did not like to leave it. Next he thought of the doctor's study, but he dared not venture to approach it. At length, after wandering about from the bed-room to the la.s.s-room door several times, he ventured to peep into the latter room, and, throwing the parcel in, ran to the playground as fast as his feet could carry him.

CHAPTER XXII.

"Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ."--Gal. vi. 2.

As soon as Hamilton had decided that it was of no use following Louis, he called his brother to him and marched with him into the cla.s.s-room, to explain, according to promise, some cla.s.sical allusions that occurred in his Latin grammar. Reginald took his arm, and several of the first cla.s.s, who saw them move, accompanied him, for the gla.s.s-door opening at the moment, admitted more cold air than was agreeable to those who did not feel inclined to visit the playground. They almost expected to find the doctor in the study, as they knew he had been there a short time before, but the sole occupant of the chamber was Frank Digby, who, to the astonishment of all, was standing in a very disconsolate att.i.tude near the fireplace, leaning his head on the mantelpiece, and neither moved nor spoke when they entered.

"Holloa, Momus!" exclaimed Reginald, "what's the row? as Salisbury would say; only, more properly we might ask, in your case, what do the tranquillity and genteel pensiveness of your demeanor denote?"

"We're going to have a change in the weather," said Jones.

"What's the matter, Frank?" asked Hamilton.

"Nothing," replied Frank, raising his head quickly, and endeavoring, rather unsuccessfully, to smile, amid something that looked very much like tears; at least, if we must not be allowed to hint at such appearances, there was certainly much agitation in his countenance--so unusual a phenomenon, that a dead silence followed the ghastly effort.