Stephen crawled dismally away, leaving his brother to fulfil his self-imposed task.
Oliver went straight to the Doctor’s study. The door stood half-open, but the Doctor was not there. He entered, and waited inside a couple of minutes, expecting that the head master would return; but no one came. After all, he would have to put off his confession of Stephen’s delinquencies till to-morrow; and, half relieved, half disappointed, he quitted the room. As he came out he encountered Simon in the passage.
“Hullo, Greenfield!” said that worthy; “what have you been up to in there?”
“I want the Doctor,” said Oliver; “do you know where he is?”
“If saw him go up stairs a minute ago; that is, I mean down stairs, you know,” said the lucid poet.
This information was sufficiently vague to determine Oliver not to attempt a wild-goose chase after the Doctor that night, so, bidding a hurried good-night to Simon, he took his way down the passage which led to Stephen’s dormitory.
He had not, however, gone many steps when a boy met him. It was Loman. There was a momentary struggle in Oliver’s breast. Here was the—very opportunity which an hour or two ago he had so eagerly desired. The whole picture of that afternoon’s adventures came up before his mind, and he felt his blood tingle as his eyes caught sight of Stephen’s persecutor. Should he pay off the score now?
Loman saw him, and changed colour. He evidently guessed what was passing through his enemy’s mind, for a quick flush came to his face and an angry scowl to his brow.
Oliver for one moment slackened pace. Then suddenly there came upon him a vision of Stephen’s appealing face as he interceded that afternoon for the boy who had done him such mischief, and that vision settled the thing.
Hurriedly resuming his walk, Oliver passed Loman with averted eyes, and went on his way.