“It would be sharing the guilt to hide it,” said Dr. May.
“Very well,” said Norman, still reluctantly. “What do you wish me to do? You see, as dux, I know nothing about it. It happened while I was away.”
“True, true,” said his father. “You have learned it as brother, not as senior boy. Yes, we had better have you out of the matter. It is I who complain of their usage of my son.”
“Thank you,” said Norman, with gratitude.
“You have not told me the names of these fellows! No, I had best not know them.”
“I think it might make a difference,” hesitated Norman.
“No, no, I will not hear them. It ought to make none. The fact is the same, be they who they may.”
The doctor let himself out at the garden gate, and strode off at a rapid pace, conscious perhaps, in secret, that if he did not at once yield to the impulse of resentment, good nature would overpower the sense of justice. His son returned to the house with a heavy sigh, yet honouring the generosity that had respected his scruples, when merely his own worldly loss was involved, but set them aside when the good of others was concerned. By-and-by Dr. May reappeared. The head-master had been thoroughly roused to anger, and had begged at once to examine May junior, for whom his father was now come.
Tom was quite unprepared for such formidable consequences of his confession, and began by piteous tears and sobs, and when these had, with some difficulty, been pacified, he proved to be really so unwell and exhausted, that his father could not take him to Minster Street, and was obliged to leave him to his brother’s keeping, while he returned to the school.
Upon this, Dr. Hoxton came himself, and the sisters were extremely excited and alarmed by the intelligence that he was in the study with papa and Tom.