This was quite satisfactory to Henry and his friends; and without waiting any further ceremony, they started off for the school.
In the mean time Greene, having ascertained that they were gone to his father's to make enquiry, had confessed that it was he who had stolen the money out of Scott's box; and when they returned, he was surrounded by all the boys, who were upbraiding and taunting him with his villany. His own friends too were against him; and, from shame and agitation of mind, he looked most wretchedly.
It is impossible to describe the scene which now took place in the school-room. Henry, whose mind was relieved from the depression occasioned by this disgraceful charge, was caressed and congratulated by every boy in the school. Mrs. Harris kissed him affectionately, and said she felt confident of his innocence from the first, and had never despaired of its being made evident. Juliana and Eliza were also amongst the first to bestow their approbation upon his conduct. George and little Ned were delighted beyond measure to see their friend once more made happy, and hoped soon to have him as the chief in their youthful sports.
But it was far different with Greene, who now felt all the wretchedness of one convicted of theft, and detected in basely attaching the disgraceful charge to an innocent and praiseworthy lad. He had taken his seat at the extremity of the school-room, and was hiding his face in his hands; and though a boy of wonderful spirits and strong nerve, was now bathed in tears, and sobbing aloud. Dr. Harris, who had been giving him a very severe lecture, still stood over him, impressing upon him the necessity of retiring into his room, to seek from God that forgiveness in prayer and repentance, which, he too much feared, would not be easily obtained from his offended and disgusted school-fellows. He now, therefore, arose, and made his way towards the door, in doing which he had again to encounter the execrations and pointed fingers of the boys, who cried, as he passed them, "Go, thou thief!" and followed him until they saw him enter the house.
Henry, however, was the only lad who did not upbraid him; for, though Greene had behaved in so disgraceful a manner towards him, he could not but feel distressed to see him appear almost brokenhearted. He still remembered, in the midst of his joy, that but a few hours had elapsed since he felt all the wretchedness of one supposed to be guilty of theft. "What then," he said to himself, "must be the feelings of him who stands convicted of the crime, and therefore has not the consciousness of innocence to support him? I cannot find in my heart to upbraid him," he said, as he took George and Ned by the hand and led them across the lawn.
They continued their walk until bed-time, when they returned, and Henry again experienced the sweets of a good night's rest, the sure reward of integrity.
"What shall I do?" "I will leave the School" page 85
Greene, on the contrary, was now distressed beyond measure: his night was restless and unrefreshing; and as the time was fast approaching when he must again face his master and his school-fellows, remorse and dread had taken possession of his mind, and he felt as if he had not strength to dress himself. "What shall I do?" he exclaimed, as he again threw himself across the bed: "I cannot enter the school-room, nor face my school-fellows; for I know they must despise me. I, who have hitherto taken the lead in the school, and have done as I chose with the boys, am now to be pointed at and spurned by the least in the place. I will leave the school directly," he added, rising from the bed, and making another attempt to dress: "I will leave the school directly, and hasten to my uncle's in London." With this rash determination he concluded, when, taking up his jacket, he discovered, upon the back of it, that which had before escaped his notice, the words "THIEF" and "LIAR," in large characters. This fresh assault cut him to the heart. He dropped the coat, and fell upon his knees at the foot of the bed, praying aloud to his Maker for forgiveness, and promising never to offend in the like manner again. He concluded by exclaiming, in great agitation: "Where shall I find a friend to plead for me? and to whom, among my school-fellows, can I now look for support?"
"To me! to me!" cried Henry, who was passing his chamber at the time, and whose kind heart overflowed with pity at the distressed bewailings of this repentant boy. "I will be your friend, and seek forgiveness from your school-fellows. Though you have grossly injured me, I cannot, must not bear malice. Dr. Harris tells us we should forget and forgive."