"Yes, and God knows exactly how hard it is better than I do; but as soon as He sees you are willing to bear this, and do the right, He will give you the strength and courage necessary."
When I lifted my head from my arms I found that Chandos was gone. I sat for nearly an hour thinking over what he had been saying—dear old Chandos! who is so good himself, and yet not half so proud as I was about poor Tom. I wonder whether God will help me as he says. I don't deserve it one bit, any more than I deserve that the Lord Jesus should forgive me.
December 5th.—I am sure God has begun to help me. I went and made a clean breast of it to the governor this morning, and he has promised to burn my papers, and keep the whole thing a secret from the rest. It was pretty hard to begin telling him, but when once I had begun I did not feel a bit afraid, and I must say he behaved splendidly. He didn't blow me up or order me an imposition for prying round his table, but he said, quite kindly,
"I am very sorry for you, Stewart. I wish you had come to me before, or told me you had seen these questions, and I might have saved you a great deal of unhappiness—for I am sure you have been unhappy—and not deprived you of all chance of getting the prize. Try and remember this for the future—I am your friend as well as your schoolmaster, and if there is any difficulty in which I can help you I hope you will trust me as a friend. I am glad to see you and Chandos get on so well together;" and then he actually shook hands with me as I was going out of the door.
I told Chandos all about it afterwards and he said, "You know now how God helps those who trust in Him; I hope you will never forget it again."
I don't think I ever shall. I don't feel afraid to kneel down and ask His help now, and I know I need it, for who can tell what I might do next after this mean trick?
December 7th.—I have written and told mamma how I have lost the prize. I thought I had better do this, for she had made so sure I should get it if I really tried that I did not like to go home without telling her first. Poor mamma! I am sorry, for she is dreadfully disappointed, I know, and I am afraid she will not let me go to sea either. I wonder whether I shall be able to give up this wish entirely, as Chandos did his? I am afraid not, for often in my dreams I seem to be on the sea, and how can I ever forget it? But I must try to settle down, I suppose. God will help me in this, I know, as He did to go to the governor, only it makes me feel dreadfully old to think of it.
December 9th.—Everybody is busy packing and getting ready to go home, but my packing must wait until I write up my log once more. I mean to tie it up and put it away until I go to sea, for I am really going after all. The news came yesterday; my mother wrote to say that, as I had had the moral courage to confess having done wrong, half her fear about my going to sea was taken away, for she felt sure I was less likely to do wrong now I had felt so much unhappiness about it than I was before. Dear mamma! she is mistaken here, but I wonder whether I shall ever be able to tell her that God alone can keep me from the evil she fears?
I could not think much about this yesterday. It was enough for me that I was going to sea, and when I had read that much of the letter, so as to understand it, I tore round the playground, holding up the letter and shouting, "Hurrah! I'm going to sea—I'm going to sea!" Some of the fellows pretended to think I was mad when I rushed at Chandos and hugged him, and shouted, "It's all your doing, old fellow. I'm going to sea! I'm going to sea!"
"Let him alone; let him blow off steam," laughed Chandos when some of the fellows tried to stop me, and I went round the playground again like a steam-engine. Everybody in the house knew it five minutes after the letter came. Luckily lessons were over for the day, or there would have been an imposition for me, but as it was nobody interfered.