"Some little prejudice, perhaps," carelessly replied Mr. Henry. "There exists something of the sort, I fancy, against the outdoor pupils. Be brave, and hold on your right course; you will live it down."
"I'm not afraid of that," answered George. "I should like to know, though, what it is the boys have got in their heads. When are you coming to see us again?" he halted to say, as he was hastening away as unceremoniously as he had come in. "Mamma says she has something to ask you that she forgot the other night."
"Does she? I will come one of these first evenings."
George Paradyne vaulted away, and Mr. Henry sat on alone. His jealous eyes—jealous for the welfare of another—had not failed to detect the feeling against George Paradyne; but this confirmation of it fell upon him with a sort of shock, and he was as certain in his own mind that the origination of it was Raymond Trace, as that it existed.
He was right. Mr. Raymond Trace, in his bitter resentment against the Paradynes, was breaking his word of honour in the spirit, if not in the letter. He did not speak of the past, it is true; but by dint of whispers, of insinuations, he was setting the school against George Paradyne, and contriving it in such a way that none could have suspected him to be the originator. He was also fanning the flame against Mr. Henry; and in his self-righteousness he thought he was doing the most natural and justifiable thing.
[CHAPTER VI.]
Mr. Gall abroad.
And now, not to make a mystery of it to you, my boys, any longer, I will tell you that it was Raymond Trace who had fired the pistol. Mr. Henry was not mistaken in his recognition of Trace; and what's more, he knew that he was not; though at the time he did not know his name, or who he was. Mr. Trace had silently quitted the college after prayers on a little private expedition of his own; in his hurry he caught up Mr. Long's cap, not noticing the mistake; and was rushing through the plantation when the sound of hushed voices caused him to slacken his footsteps and advance cautiously, lest he should be seen himself. Peeping through the trees, he discerned Smart and Dick Loftus, each flourishing a pistol about like two young madmen; and Trace, making a movement in his surprise, betrayed his presence. You know what followed: the boys flew off with one of the pistols; the other Trace took up, and presently fired it off. He fired it heedlessly, without thought of harm, never supposing it was loaded; with an idea perhaps of further scaring the two decamping boys; neither had he heard the approach of Talbot. When he found the pistol was loaded, and that some mischief had ensued, he was startled nearly out of his senses, quite out of his presence of mind.
His straightforward course, as everybody knows, would have been to go up and see who was wounded; but I'm afraid Trace's was not a very straightforward nature; and there was also the instinctive desire to conceal his having come abroad. Not a boy in the college was more solicitous of appearing to keep the rules than Trace; and he had grown to be looked upon as a model to the rest. Dropping the pistol, away he stole, obeying instinct only, too terrified to be able to think calmly, and came face to face with the new foreign master. Up went his hand to his face to hide it, and away he backed amidst the trees; stealing on noiselessly for some short distance, and then tearing back to school helter-skelter. It was only when he came to hang up the cap that he discovered the mistake he had made in taking out a master's. He glided into the hall, sat down behind the nearest desk, and gradually let his presence be noticed. When the news came presently in, Trace was talking with Irby and Brown major, and rose up in the same consternation as the rest.
You may therefore imagine what his sensations were when the Head Master subsequently appealed to his honour; to his, in common with that of the rest of the school. He could not declare himself; the time had gone by; it was quite impossible that he, having concealed it, could come forth with the avowal at that, the eleventh hour. Over and over again he blamed his folly and his cowardice for having stolen away; he would give all the money his pockets contained—and money was often a scarce commodity with Mr. Trace—to have bravely gone up to the wounded boy and declared the truth of the accident. He called himself a fool; he called himself a coward; he called himself sundry other disparaging names: but that it was not in his habit to do it, he might have sworn at himself. Not for the mere act in itself, the having fired the pistol; that was almost a pure accident; but for having concealed that it was he who did it.
However, his course was entered upon, and all he could do now was to hope and trust that he might never be discovered. While this hope was filling every crevice of his heart, making itself heard hourly in his brain, there came the startling question of the German master—"Was it not you I met?" Trace could only be indignant and say it was not; but the disagreeable doubt, whether he had been positively recognized or not, caused him to fear and hate Mr. Henry with a bitter fear and hatred. He thought it was but a suspicion, not a recognition, for Mr. Henry's quiet and cautious manner deceived him, and he grew to believe that his denial had borne its intended fruit. So the fear subsided, but the hatred ripened; and it might perhaps bring trouble in the future.