Edward’s eyes were full of tears; he almost owned the whole. He had not thought of such things, and then Axworthy—It was more evident from manner than words that the boy did repent and was greatly overcome, both by his own disgrace and his mother’s distress, wishing earnestly to redeem his character, and declaring, from the bottom of his heart, that he would avoid his former offences. He was emboldened at last to say, with hesitation, “Could not you speak to Dr. Hoxton for me?”
“My father has said all he could in your behalf.”
Edward’s eye glanced towards Norman in wonder, as he recollected that the Mays must know that a word from him would have saved Norman from unjust punishment and the loss of the scholarship, and he said, “Good-night,” and turned aside to his own home, with a heavy sigh.
Norman took another turn, looked up at the sky, twisted his hands together in perplexity, mumbled something about hating to do a thing when it was all for no use, and then marched off towards Minster Street, with a pace like his father’s the day before.
When he came forth again from Dr. Hoxton’s study, he did not believe that his intercession had produced the least effect, and there was a sense of vexation at the position which he had assumed. He went home, and said nothing on the subject; but when, on Monday, the school was assembled, and the judgment announced, it was Axworthy alone whose friends had been advised to remove him.
Anderson received a severe punishment, as did all those who had shared in the revel at the Green Man. Even Tom, and another little boy, who had been likewise drawn in, were obliged to stay within narrow bounds, and to learn heavy impositions; and a stern reprimand and exhortation were given to the school collectively. Anderson, who had seen from the window that turn towards Minster Street, drew his own conclusions, and was not insensible to the generosity that had surpassed his hopes, though to his faltering attempt at thanks, Norman replied that he did not believe it was owing to him, and never exposed himself to Flora’s wonder by declaring at home what he had done.
So the last weeks of the half-year passed away with the boys in a subdued, but hopeful manner, and the reformation, under Norman’s auspices, progressed so well, that Ashe might fairly expect to reap the benefit of the discipline, established at so much cost.
Mr. Wilmot had looked on, and given his help, but he was preparing to leave Stoneborough, and there was great concern at the parting with such a friend. Ethel, especially, mourned the loss to Cocksmoor, and, for though hers had been the executive part, his had been the head, and he was almost equally grieved to go from the newly-begun work.
Margaret lamented the loss of her kind counsellor, and the ready hearer of her anxieties for the children. Writing could ill supply the place of their conversations, and she feared likewise that her father would feel the want of his companionship. The promise of visits, and the intercourse kept up by Tom’s passing to and fro, was the best consolation.
Poor Margaret had begun to flag, both in strength and spirits, as winter approached, but there came a revival in the shape of “Ship Letters!” Alan wrote cheerfully and graphically, with excellent accounts of Harry, who, on his side, sent very joyous and characteristic despatches, only wishing that he could present Mary with all the monkeys and parrots he had seen at Rio, as well as the little ruby-crested humming-birds, that always reminded him of Miss Rivers.