“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 embarrassment, and the first class 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 passed 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.