“If I did not actually say so, I allowed it to be said in my presence without contradicting it, which amounts to the same thing, sir,” replied Norman, colouring.
“I am glad to see that you have sufficient right feeling left to be ashamed of your heartless and unmanly conduct,” resumed the head-master; “and I can devise you no more fitting punishment, than to show you by practical experience, how powerless you are to counteract the evil consequences of the wrong you have committed. Your appeal only confirms my decision in regard to little Colville.”
Norman had hitherto succeeded beyond his expectations in his cleverly-devised scheme. His object had been to secure two points: first, to wreak his revenge on Biggington, by forcing him into a struggle, for which he had been for some weeks past privately training himself under the auspices of a retired pugilist, who kept a public-house in the neighbourhood; and, secondly, to be expelled for so doing, by which event he should be enabled to join the regiment to which he had been appointed, and upon which all his hopes and wishes were just now centred, four months sooner than he otherwise could have done. Accordingly, till Hugh Colville, for whom he had taken a decided liking, was sentenced to be flogged, Norman had been inwardly congratulating himself on his success; but the fact of being unable to protect this child, to whom he had by implication pledged himself, wounded his pride and self-respect to such a degree, that, as the Doctor had truly observed, no more effective punishment could have been devised for him.
In the meantime Percy had been working himself up into a dreadful state of mind. The reflection that Hugh, his lost father’s darling, who had scarcely had a cross word spoken to him in his lifetime, and even since he had been at school (owing to his own watchfulness, and the rough good-nature of their cousin Wilfred Goldsmith), had never received an angry blow—the reflection that Hugh, his pet, everybody’s pet, was sentenced to be flogged, was more than he could bear with equanimity. What could be done to save him? He glanced inquiringly towards Wilfred, but that knowing young gentleman shook his head despondingly—the case was beyond his skill; determined to risk a last appeal, he half rose from his seat, but the Doctor’s quick glance detected the movement, and he said in a decided, but not an unkind tone of voice—
“Sit down, Percy Colville; I am doing what is best for your brother’s future interests, and my decision is irrevocable. I will not hear another word on this subject from anybody,” he continued angrily, perceiving that Percy still seemed inclined to remonstrate.
Ernest Carrington’s desk was so situated that he could not only see each movement of the two Colvilles, but could actually hear every word they spoke to each other; thus he became aware that, at the moment in which the Doctor addressed Percy, Hugh started, and made a manful effort to subdue his tears.
“Hush, Percy,” he said, in a broken whisper, “hush, dear, he will be angry with you. I daresay I can bear it; it’s only the disgrace I’m thinking of, and that somebody may tell mamma of it, and make her unhappy, perhaps.” And here, despite his efforts, a sob choked his utterance.
Ernest caught the import of the whisper, and at the same moment he became aware of a timid and appealing glance from Percy, which Hugh also observing, a new light broke in upon him; for the first time,—believing equally in Ernest’s will and power to assist him,—a hope of deliverance suggested itself to him; and, with a piteous, expressive little face, in which every passing thought and emotion could be read as in an open book, he also fixed his large tearful eyes imploringly upon Ernest’s countenance.
And Ernest?—in his own private mind, he had all along considered the Doctor injudiciously severe in regard to Hugh—he had duly estimated the strength of the temptation, and the poor child’s weakness—he had also perceived the depth and sincerity of Hugh’s repentance; and now his promise to do his best to befriend the orphan boys, and the recollection of the fact that he had been the involuntary instrument of Hugh’s detection, recurred to him with a force that was irresistible, and springing from his seat, he said—
“Doctor Donkiestir, I fear the petition I am about to urge may be opposed to the etiquette of the school, but I ask, as a personal favour, that Hugh Colville may not be flogged.”