"No doubt it will, Mr. Dean. Thank you for thinking of it."
They finally went out, St. John casting a significant look behind him, at the boys in general, at Aultane junior in particular. It said as plainly as looks could say, "I'd not peach again, boys, if I were you;" and Aultane junior, but for the restraining presence of the head master, would assuredly have sent a yell after him.
How much St. John told of the real truth to the dean, that the medal had been pledged, we must leave between them. The school never knew. Henry himself never knew. St. John quitted the dean at the deanery, and went on to restore the medal to its owner: although Georgina Beauclerc was standing at one of the deanery windows, looking down expectantly, as if she fancied he was going in.
Travice was at that moment at Peter Arkell's, perched upon a side-table, as he talked to them. Henry leaned rather languidly back in an elbow-chair, his fingers pressed upon his head; Lucy was at work near the window; Mrs. Peter, looking very ill, sat at the table. Travice had not been at service on the previous afternoon, and the accident had been news to him this morning.
"But how did you fall?" he was asking with uncompromising plainness, being unable to get any clear information on the point. "What threw you down?"
"Well—I fell," answered Henry.
"Of course you fell. But how? The passage is all clear between the seats of the king's scholars and the cross benches; there's nothing for you to strike your foot against; how did you fall?"
"There was some confusion at the time, Travice; the first lesson was just over, and the people were rising for the cantate. I was walking very fast, too."
"But something must have thrown you down: unless you turned giddy, and fell of your own accord."
"I felt giddy afterwards," returned Henry, who had been speaking with his hand mostly before his eyes, and seemed to answer the questions with some reluctance. "I feel giddy now."