Part 20 (1/2)

Jonah, however, on this particular morning felt far from comfortable.

It may have been the hot sultry day, or it may have been the general oppression of his own feelings, which gave him a sense of something-- probably a thunderstorm impending. His cla.s.s remarked that he was less exacting than usual, and even Jeffreys became aware that his colleague for once in a way was not himself.

The clock had just struck twelve, and the boys were beginning to look forward to their usual break in half an hour's time, when the schoolroom door suddenly opened, and disclosed the broad figure of Mr Rosher, followed at a timid distance by Mrs Trimble.

Jonah's face turned pale; Freddy and Teddy opened their eyes to their widest. Jeffreys, on hearing Freddy mutter ”Father,” looked round curiously, to get a view of the father of his little friends.

Mr Rosher recognised Trimble with a nod.

”I've coom, you see, lad. I want to have a look at this murderer fellow thee was talking about. Where is he?”

It was a thunderclap with a vengeance! Only two persons in the room guessed all it meant.

”Coom, trot him out, man,” repeated the farmer, noticing the hesitation in Jonah's scared face. ”Is that the chap yonder thee was telling me of?” added he, pointing to Jeffreys.

It was all up with Galloway House, and Jonah knew it.

”Yes,” said he.

Jeffrey's face became livid as he sprang to his feet.

”Stay where thou art,” said the brawny farmer, motioning him back.

”Let's have a look at thee. So thee's a manslayer? Thou looks it.”

A terrible pause followed--the pause of a man who struggles for words that will not come.

He looked terrible indeed; with heaving chest and bloodless lips, and eyes like the eyes of a hunted wolf. At length he gasped--

”Liar!” and advanced towards the affrighted Jonah.

But the st.u.r.dy Yorks.h.i.+re-man stepped between.

”Nay, nay,” said he, ”one's enough. Stay where thou art, and let him give chapter and verse--chapter and verse. He came to me last night, and said thou wast a murderer, and I've coom to see if thou art. Thou looks one, but maybe thou'rt right to call him a liar.”

”Ask him,” gasped Jonah, ”what he did to his old schoolfellow, young Forrester, and then lot him call me a liar if he likes.”

”Dost hear, lad? What was it thee did to thy old schoolfellow young Forrester? That's a fair question. Out with it.”

If Jeffreys had looked terrible a moment ago, he looked still more terrible now, as he sank with a groan onto the bench, and turned a sickened look on his accuser.

The dead silence of the room almost stunned him. He seemed to feel every eye that turned to him like a dagger in his heart, and there rose up in his mind a vision of that football field far away, and the senseless figure of the boy who lay there. Everything came back. The howl of execration, the frightened faces, the cap lying where the boy had flung it, even the chill autumn breeze in his face.

He knew not how long he sat there stupefied. The voice of Mr Rosher roused him.

”Coom, now, dost thou say liar still?”

Jeffreys struggled to his feet, no longer furious, but still more terrible in his dejection.

”Yes,” snapped Jonah, astonished at the effect of his accusation, and just wise enough to see that to add to or take away from the story would be to spoil it. ”What did you do to your poor schoolfellow, young Forrester? Do you suppose we don't see through you?”

”Hold thy tongue, little donkey!” said the farmer; ”let's hear what he has to say.”