“It is I,” said Mr Ladislaw, “and Mr Hashford.”
“I shall be glad if you will immediately have my door opened,” was the reply.
“Smith, unscrew the door at once,” said Mr Ladislaw.
Smith solemnly proceeded to do as he was bid, and presently the screws were both dislodged.
“Is it done?” said the Henniker when the sound ceased.
“Yes, Miss Henniker; the door is quite free.”
“Then,” said the Henniker—and there positively seemed to be a tremor in the voice—“please go; I will be down presently.”
So the little procession turned and once more walked down the stairs, Smith, with his screwdriver, still walking solemnly in the middle. We who were in hiding were torn by conflicting desires. Our first impulse was to remain and enjoy the spectacle of the crestfallen Henniker marching forth from her late prison. But somehow, rough boys as we were, and not much given to chivalric scruples, the sound of that tremble in the Henniker’s voice, and with it the recollection of the part we had taken in her punishment, made us feel as if, after all, the best thing we could do was not to remain, but to follow the others down stairs.
As we were doing so the ten o’clock bell rang for morning classes, and we naturally sought the schoolroom, where, with Mr Hashford in the desk, school was assembled just as if nothing had happened. Hawkesbury was the only absentee.
I certainly admired Mr Hashford on this occasion. He appeared to be the only person in the room who was not thoroughly uncomfortable. Indeed, as we went on with our work, and he, almost pleasantly, entered into it with us, we felt ourselves getting comfortable too, and could hardly believe that the usher now instructing us had, an hour ago, been our prisoner, and that we so recently had been shouting words of mutiny and defiance all over the school. It was like a dream—and, after all, not a very nice dream.