Chapter Twelve.
A Gust of the Soul.
“Once more will the wronger, at this last of all.
Dare to say ‘I did wrong,’ rising in his fall?”
Browning.
The story of Brogten’s practical joke, and the circumstances which made it so unusually disgraceful, spread with lightning-like rapidity through Saint Werner’s College; and when he swaggered into hall with his usual self-confident air, he was surprised to find himself met with cold and even with frowning looks. Snatches of conversation which went on around him soon showed him the reason of the general disapprobation; and when he learnt how violently the current of popular opinion was beginning to set against him, and how unfavourable a view was taken of his conduct, he began seriously to regret that he had given the reins to his malice.
“I shouldn’t wonder now if Home were to lose the Clerkland; he was sure of it before this morning,” said one.
“What a cursed shame!” echoed another. “I never in my life heard a more blackguard trick. That fellow Brogten has lost the Hartonians the scholarship; lucky if he hasn’t lost it to Saint Werner’s too. Perhaps that Benedict man will get it.”
“I say, Kennedy,” said a third, “if I were you or Lillyston, or any other of Home’s particular friends, I’d duck Brogten.”
“Let’s wait till we see whether Home does lose the scholarship first,” said Lillyston. “If he does, Brogten deserves anything; but I have strong hopes yet.”
“I know Home,” said Kennedy, “and he would never forgive such an interference, or I declare I should be inclined to do it.”