Treading upon air. His gown was thrown back from his shoulders, his trencher sat jauntily on his head, his boots creaked, his feet seemed not to touch the ground. Just before he turned in at Sir Simon's gate, he saw two people turn out of it, and recognized George Paradyne and his mother. Trace vouchsafed no notice whatever, and thought it very like their impudence to be there. George, who did not recognize him at the first moment, ran after him inside the grounds.
"Have you gained the prize, Trace?" he asked, as he caught him up.
"It has not pleased the Head Master to proclaim who has gained it or who has not," answered Trace, turning, and speaking with the same sort of accent he might have used to a dog.
"But I suppose you feel sure of it?"
"I have felt that all along. I am sure now."
"That's right," cried George heartily. "I am glad I gave up to you! If I have been secretly chafing over it all day, I'm only thankful now."
"Glad you gave up to me!" retorted Trace. "You did not give up to me; you were forced to give up because you couldn't help yourself."
"I gave up to you indeed, Trace; that you might get it. It was through Mr. Henry; he persuaded me: and I'm heartily glad of it as things have turned out. Good-bye, old fellow! I won't keep you now; but I'll stand by you through all, Trace. Mind that."
Scarcely according a moment's thought to the ambiguous words, except to resent their insolence, Trace gave his shoulders a shake, metaphorically shaking off George Paradyne, and went on his way of triumph. Ah, boys! how often when we are at the very height of prosperity, is a fall near! as you go through life you will remark it. That was the last hour of pride to Raymond Trace.
He rang grandly at the hall-bell—as became a senior fellow who was above the ordinary run of mortals, and had just gained the Orville. "Is Mr. Trace in the dining-room?" he asked of Thomas, rubbing his shoes on the inner mat, and handing him his gown and trencher.