"Yes, sir, I will promise you anything I may with honour."
"That is right. You cannot be too careful of that last," he said, smiling, and then went on gravely: "My boy, I hope some day to have you under my own eye in my own company, and till then I want you to do what is best to bear yourself with credit, Now promise me again you will do as I ask, on your honour."
"I will, sir, on my honour."
"Then you will never come within these doors again unless the King sends for you, and as soon as you go home you will tell Father Urbani where you have been this winter. Do you understand?"
"I do, sir."
"Very well. Now, honour for honour. I will take up your affair with this man Creach, or Graeme, or whatever else he may call himself, and you may rest satisfied that your quarrel will not suffer. And now, God bless you, my lad, and when you are older you will thank me for this day's work. Good-bye!" And he shook my hand warmly, and stood watching me until I passed out into the hall.
I may as well admit here, that at times I am slow at displacing any idea which has once taken root in my mind, and it was not until some years after I conceived the explanation that Creach was never this fellow's name at all, but for some reason best known to himself he had chosen to fare under it when we met with him at Aquapendente, otherwise honourable men would never have answered for him as they did. But this is by the way.
I went forth from the Palace with my head in a whirl; for, though I was satisfied with the part I had played towards Creach, there was my promise to the Colonel, and, despite every effort I might make, my visits did not appear to me so defensible as before. I tried to argue to myself that I had not been forbidden; but, somehow, that did not seem sufficient, and I was the more uncomfortable when I called to mind the Colonel's dislike of the company I had been in the habit of keeping.
However, it must be faced, and so, after the evening meal, I asked to be allowed to see the Rector and was admitted to his room. When I entered he was sitting at his table alone, and somehow, when I saw his kind old face, I knew suddenly why none of my excuses would answer; I had been deceiving this old man who had been like a father to me, who had never treated me save with kindness, and had trusted me without questioning. I was so overcome that I could not speak—overwhelmed with an utter sense of wretchedness—until he stretched out his hand and said, gently, "Come."
"Oh, Father," I cried, "let me leave the College! Let me go away!" too miserable to think of anything else.