Orville College: A Story

by Mrs. Henry Wood

"Shake hands, and be thankful to God," he wound up with, "for a great mercy has been vouchsafed to you both this day. But for that, you might just as well have been lying stark upon the heights now."

He never supposed but that the pistols had been loaded with bullets. Any doubt to the contrary had not been whispered to him. And the fact, as to whether they had or not, remained yet to be proved.

But the occurrence spoilt the pleasure in Boulogne. It was looked upon in a very grave light by both the families concerned, and they resolved to cut the visit short and return home. Sir Simon made a call upon Onions, and demanded the pistols, which were given up to him. Never again were they seen by Bertie Loftus; and what Sir Simon did with them Bertie could not get to know, but always thought he dropped them into the waves of the receding tide, and let them drift out to sea.

Onions was back in London before they were. Lady Sophia Leek, grown tired of her visit, as it was natural to her to grow, wherever she went, crossed over the day before the large party. It was quite the same to Onions whether he stayed or returned home. He made himself happy anywhere.

Let us take a look at Mr. Henry. While they and others had been amusing themselves, he was working as usual. He gave his private lessons, he finished his translation, he accomplished certain work that Mr. Baker had asked him to do as a favour—the working out of some difficult problems in Euclid. "You are as capable as I am, Henry," said the mathematical master, "and I want to go into Wales and see my poor old father." And Mr. Henry had accepted the task with a patient sigh.

Yes, the translation was finished at last. It had been a stupendous labour, considering the little time Mr. Henry could give to it and the many abstruse books he had been obliged to consult. Had he foreseen what the task would be, he might not have entered upon it. And he had made too light, by anticipation, of his legitimate work in the college, for that had been greatly added to by the ill-will of the boys. All the trouble and labour they possibly could give to him, they did give. Many and many a night, when he might have been at his translation, was he detained over their wretchedly false exercises; rendered purposely as incorrect, and also as illegible, as it was possible for the malice of schoolboys to render them. Mr. Henry had felt ill for some time now. It was hot summer weather, and yet a sort of ague was upon him; but he did what he could to shake it off.

And that was a red-letter day when, the translation completed, he set out with it for London. It happened to be the same day that Sir Simon and his large party were crossing over from Boulogne; but that had nothing to do with Mr. Henry. The sun was bright, the skies were clear; his ailments and his weakness, the weary night vigils, and the past fatigue in his labours, all were alike forgotten, as he bore on to the publisher's house in Paternoster Row, and passed at length through its swing doors, carrying his heavy parcel.

"Would you like to receive the money now?" inquired the publisher, after he had talked with him.

"If you please. If not inconvenient."

Not inconvenient certainly to pay thirty pounds; and the money, in five-pound notes, was given into his hand. "We shall send the proofs to you, Mr. Henry; no one but yourself must correct them."