Orville College: A Story

by Mrs. Henry Wood

"You are not to talk, Talbot," interrupted Mr. Jebb: and the two gentlemen moved away from the bed. Mr. Henry began to ask who Dick Loftus was.

"He is brother to the second senior of the school," was the clergyman's reply. "You may have remarked Loftus major in chapel, from the circumstance that he read the lesson."

"Which of the lessons? I noticed the readers of both."

"The first lesson. The second was read by Trace."

"Trace?" echoed Mr. Henry.

"You are thinking it an uncommon name. Raymond Trace; he is cousin to the Loftus boys. There's quite a romance attaching to their history," proceeded the clergyman, who was a bit of a gossip, and he dropped his voice as he spoke. "The two fathers were in partnership in Liverpool, stock and share brokers, quite a first-class house, and much respected. Unfortunately they took in a partner, and before two years were over he ruined them. He issued false shares, put forged bills in circulation—I hardly know what he did not do. They were quite ruined; at least, it was ruin compared to what their former wealth had been. The house was broken up; all its debts were paid; and Mr. Loftus retired to the Isle of Wight upon a small private property. He had lived there previously, never having taken a very practical part in the business. The other partner, Mr. Trace, went abroad, hoping to carve out a second fortune. I hear he is doing it."

"And these are the sons?" observed the German master, after a pause.

"These are the sons. Mr. Loftus has several children, Mr. Trace only this one. Mrs. Loftus and Mrs. Trace were sisters. Their brother, Sir Simon Orville, a retired city man, lives here close to the college; he is some distant relative of its founder. The three boys were placed at it two years ago, and it is thought Sir Simon pays for them. They spend their vacations generally at his house: Trace always does. He has no other home in England: Mrs. Trace is dead."

The injured boy stirred uneasily, and Mr. Henry hastened to him. "Do you feel much pain?" he kindly asked.

"Rather sharpish for that," was the answer. "I say, sir, you—you don't think I shall die?" and the bright brown eyes looked wistfully up at the master's, as the sudden anxious question was whispered. "It's my mother I am thinking of," added Talbot, by way of excuse.