Orville College: A Story

by Mrs. Henry Wood

He fanned something else—and, that was, a vague rumour reflecting on Mr. Henry. That gentleman's name became connected with Miss Paradyne's in anything but a pleasant manner: but as yet only by hints and innuendoes; the school had got hold of nothing tangible. Bertie Loftus asked Trace what the matter was, but Trace did not define it. "A bad lot, those Paradynes," he answered, drawing down the corners of his respectable lips: "and the German is in league with them." A terrible score had Trace against Mr. Henry, if only from the fact that he continued to assist, or, as Trace phrased it, to coach Paradyne: but for that, Paradyne had never stood a chance of wresting the Orville prize from deserving fingers. And so, in this uncomfortable and uncertain state, the time went on.

One afternoon when October was passing, and the great day of decision, the first of November, was drawing near, it happened that in a very difficult Greek lesson, Trace did badly, Paradyne markedly well. They were before the Head Master, and he said a few rather sharp words to Trace, whose failure he attributed to carelessness, about allowing one younger to outstrip him. "You'll stand no chance against him, Trace, if you can't do better than this," added the doctor. Perhaps he spoke lightly, without much thought; but Trace took the words to his heart and let them rankle there.

When tea was over, he went out alone, debating with himself whether he should disclose the past disgrace relating to Paradyne, and so stop his going up for the Orville. Trace was of a concentrative nature, and liked this self-communing. Pacing the plantation, he thought over the question in all its bearings, and came to the conclusion that, to speak, was a duty he owed to society, and would be a righteous act in itself. This so far settled, he was about to leave the tree, against which his back had been propped for the last five minutes, and to go home, when he saw a man come stealthily forth from a dark side-path, and look out as if he were waiting for some one. Trace had no objection to a bit of private adventure, especially if it related to other people's business, and remained where he was, on the watch.

Up came Mr. Henry, making directly for the stranger's hiding-place. That he had come to meet him, was apparent; and Trace stared with all his eyes into the obscure light. He could not make out much: they passed him very close once, as they were talking together, and he heard a few words from the stranger.

"I shall stop here, I tell you. The voyage——"

Those were all the distinct words Trace caught then. When they came back again, Mr. Henry was speaking.

"Of course, if you are determined to remain, I cannot say you shall not: but I fancy you will not succeed. And then, you know, there will be the risk of——"

So far only, this time, before they were out of hearing again. Trace's ears were strained to the uttermost, but he caught only two words more, and that from the stranger as they were parting: "Mother Butter's." Mr. Henry walked quickly towards home, the man disappeared amid the trees the other way, and Trace stayed where he was, revolving the mystery. But he could find no clue to it.

Clashing footsteps sounded now. One of the boys was tearing home from the railway station. It was Lamb, with a parcel in his hand, and Trace went out to meet him. How it came about Trace never exactly knew, but while he was saying to himself "Shall I tell, or shall I not?" he told, and Lamb was put in possession of the real facts relating to Paradyne: all the past trouble; the past disgrace; that he belonged to a family of fraud, and never ought to have been at Orville. Nuts for Mr. Lamb to crack. But, strange to say, no sooner had the secret escaped Trace's lips, than a voice within seemed to warn him that he had done wrong. It was too late to repent; Lamb went whispering the poison about with his stealthy tongue, and the school listened eagerly.

A few days passed on without explosion. The boys met in secret knots to take counsel, and felt half paralysed at their own audacious words. They talked of mutiny, if Paradyne were allowed to go up for the Orville; they whispered of rebellion, if subjected longer to the authority of a master so ill-doing as Mr. Henry. But they did nothing. Not one would undertake the responsibility of commencing hostilities, or of speaking to the Head Master: it was a practical illustration of the old fable of the mice proposing to put the bell on the eat. And November was close at hand.