‘No, sir, none at all,’ was the answer.
Gerald Eversley gave these answers with a blushing cheek; but Dr. Pearson, not being a man of so much experience as Mr. Brandiston, did not draw from it an unfavourable inference.
Dr. Pearson continued:
‘Eversley, I believe what you say. I think Mr. Brandiston could not have done otherwise than lay the case before me. But, strong as the evidence is—and you see how strong it is—it falls short of proof, and you, who have never been suspected of falsehood before, are entitled to be believed. I believe you. You may go now. I shall tell Mr. Brandiston what I have said to you.’
Dr. Pearson rose from his seat, and just as Gerald was preparing to go, he said, ‘I hope—I think—you will one day do something that will make Mr. Brandiston proud of you,’ and he added, with a kindly smile, ‘yes, and me too.’
Gerald Eversley left the head master’s presence with a profound and reverential feeling of gratitude. He had been believed. The head master had believed him. His word, standing alone, had been accepted. The thought filled his heart with pride, and brought tears of joy into his eyes.
Great, great is the potency of faith! It is faith that ‘removes mountains.’
But there was another person whose good opinion was to Gerald Eversley worth almost as much as Dr. Pearson’s, and he too did not fail him in his hour of need. It was Harry Venniker. To him Gerald had written, giving a brief account of the circumstances in which he found himself, as soon as he knew how grave a view Mr. Brandiston took of them, only begging him not to say anything to his mother or his sister about them. He received an answer on the morning of his first interview with Dr. Pearson. Harry was getting better now, and wrote in his own hand. He said, in his boyish way, ‘I declare it’s a beastly shame, old man. I wish I were at St. Anselm’s to tell old Brandiston what I think about it. But never mind; I will bet ten to one that you will come out all right. It’s very odd about the paper in the fireplace, but nobody who knows you could ever think you had done it. Anyhow, I don’t, and I won’t.’
Harry Venniker’s faith in his friend had grown stronger since the days of the Sunday boxing. The letter was signed, ‘Ever affectionately yours, H. V.’ Below the signature was a postscript: ‘My mother says you must pay us another visit in the holidays. When will you come? I want so much to see you.’
So Gerald had some ground for satisfaction. Mr. Brandiston, indeed, made no further allusion to the examination paper. He had always treated Gerald somewhat distantly, and he did not treat him more distantly now. In fact, he went out of his way once or twice to show that he did not think worse of him than before. But Dr. Pearson believed in his innocence. Harry Venniker believed in it. The boys in the house, with hardly an exception, seemed convinced of it, and glad to be convinced. His father wrote expressing his deep satisfaction that the head master had not lost confidence in his ‘dear boy’s character.’ Gerald began to feel, for the first time at St. Anselm’s, the favouring breeze of popularity. And, above all, there was the prospect of a visit to Helmsbury.