Part 30 (1/2)

He propelled Charley from him with a jerk, and propelled him against Mr. Huntley, who was at that moment turning the corner close to them, on his way from Mr. Galloway's office.

”You can't go through me, Charley,” said Mr. Huntley. ”Did you think I was made of gla.s.s, Bywater?”

”My patience!” exclaimed Bywater. ”Why, Harry was grumbling, not five minutes ago, that you were never coming home at all, Mr. Huntley.”

”He was, was he? Is he here?”

”Oh, he's somewhere amongst the ruck of them,” cried Bywater, looking towards the distant boys. ”He wants you to see about this bother of the seniors.h.i.+p. If somebody doesn't, we shall get up a mutiny, that's all. Here, Huntley,” he shouted at the top of his voice, ”here's an arrival from foreign parts!”

Some of the nearer boys looked round, and the word was pa.s.sed to Huntley. Harry Huntley and the rest soon surrounded him, and Mr. Huntley had no reason to complain of the warmth of his reception. When news had recently arrived that Mr. Huntley was coming home, the boys had taken up the hope of his interference. Of course, schoolboy-like, they all entered upon it eagerly.

”Stop, stop, stop!” said Mr. Huntley. ”One at a time. How can I hear, if you all talk together? Now, what's the grievance?”

They detailed it as rationally and with as little noise as it was in their nature to do. Huntley was the only senior present, but Gaunt came up during the conference.

”It's all a cram, Mr. Huntley,” cried Tod Yorke. ”My brother Gerald says that Jenkins dreamt it.”

”I'll 'dream' you, if you don't keep your tongue silent, Tod Yorke,” reprimanded Gaunt. ”Take yourself off to a distance, Mr. Huntley,” he added, turning to that gentleman, ”it is certain that Lady Augusta said it; and we can't think she'd say it, unless Pye promised it. It is unfair upon Charming and Huntley.”

A few more words given to the throng, upon general matters--for Mr. Huntley touched no more on the other topic--and then he continued his way to Lady Augusta's. As he pa.s.sed the house of the Reverend Mr. Pye, that gentleman was coming out of it. Mr. Huntley, a decisive, straightforward man, entered upon the matter at once, after some moments spent in greeting.

”You will pardon my speaking of it to you personally,” he said, when he had introduced the subject, ”In most cases I consider it perfectly unjustifiable for the friends of boys in a public school to interfere with the executive of its master; but this affair is different. Is it, or is it not correct, that there is an intention afloat to exalt Yorke to the seniors.h.i.+p?”

”Mr. Huntley, you must be aware that in no case can the head-master of a public school allow himself to be interfered with, or questioned,” was the reply of the master.

”I hope you will meet this amicably,” returned Mr. Huntley.

”I have no other wish than to be friendly; quite so. We all deem ourselves under obligations to you, Mr. Pye, and esteem you highly; we could not have, or wish, a better preceptor for our sons. But in this instance, my duty is plain. The injustice--if any such injustice is contemplated--tells particularly upon Tom Channing and my son. Mr. Channing does not give ear to it; I would rather not; nevertheless, you must pardon me for acting, in the uncertainty, as though it had foundation. I presume you cannot be ignorant of the dissatisfied feeling that reigns in the school?”

”I have intimated that I will not be questioned,” said Mr. Pye.

”Quite right. I merely wished to express a hope that there may be no foundation for the rumour. If Tom Channing and Harry forfeit their rights legally, through want of merit, or ill conduct, it is not I that would urge a word in their favour. Fair play's a jewel: and the highest boy in the school should have no better chance given him than the lowest. But if the two senior boys do not so forfeit their rights, Yorke must not be exalted above them.”

”Who is to dictate to me?” demanded Mr. Pye. ”Certainly not I,” replied Mr. Huntley, in a courteous but firm tone. ”Were the thing to take place, I should simply demand, through the Dean and Chapter, that the charter of the school might be consulted, as to whether its tenets had teen strictly followed.”

The head-master made no reply. Neither did he appear angry; only impa.s.sible. Mr. Huntley had certainly hit the right nail on the head; for the master of Helstonleigh College school was entirely under the control, of the Dean and Chapter.

”I can speak to you upon this all the more freely and with better understanding, since it is not my boy who stands any chance,” said Mr. Huntley, with a cordial smile. ”Tom Channing heads him on the rolls.”

”Tom Channing will not be senior; I have no objection to affirm so much to you,” observed the master, falling in with Mr. Huntley's manner, ”This sad affair of his brother Arthur's debars him.”

”It ought not to debar him, even were Arthur guilty,” warmly returned Mr. Huntley.

”In justice to Tom Channing himself, no. But,” and the master dropped his voice to a confidential tone, ”it is necessary sometimes to study the prejudices taken up by a school; to see them, and not to appear to see them--if you understand me. Were Tom Channing made head of the school, part of the school would rise up in rebellion; some of the boys would, no doubt, be removed from it. For the peace of the school alone, it could not be done. The boys would not now obey him as senior, and there would be perpetual warfare, resulting we know not in what.”

”Arthur Channing was not guilty. I feel as sure of it as I do of my own life.”

”He is looked upon as guilty by those who must know best, from their familiarity with the details,” rejoined Mr. Pye, ”For my own part, I have no resource but to believe him so, I regard it as one of those anomalies which you cannot understand, or would believe in, but that it happens under your own eye; where the moment's yielding to temptation is at variance with the general character, with the whole past life. Of course, in these cases, the disgrace is reflected upon relatives and connections, and they have to suffer for it. I cannot help the school's resenting it upon Tom.”

”It will be cruel to deprive Tom of the seniors.h.i.+p upon these grounds,” remonstrated Mr. Huntley.

”To himself individually,” a.s.sented the master. ”But it is well that one, promoted to a foundation-school's seniors.h.i.+p, should be free from moral taint. Were there no feeling whatever against Tom Channing in the school, I do not think I could, consistently with my duty and with a due regard to the fitness of things, place him as senior. I am sorry for the boy; I always liked him; and he has been of good report, both as to scholars.h.i.+p and conduct.”

”I know one thing,” said Mr. Huntley: ”that you may search the school through, and not find so good a senior as Tom Channing would make.”

”He would have made a very good one, there's no doubt. Would have ruled the boys well and firmly, though without oppression. Yes, we lose a good senior in Tom Channing.”

There was no more to be said. Mr. Huntley felt that the master was thoroughly decided; and for the other matter, touching Yorke, he had done with it until the time of appointment. As he went musing on, he began to think that Mr. Pye might be right with regard to depriving Tom of the seniors.h.i.+p, however unjust it might appear to Tom himself. Mr. Huntley remembered that not one of the boys, except Gaunt, had mentioned Tom Channing's name in his recent encounter with them; they had spoken of the injustice of exalting Yorke over Harry Huntley. He had not noticed it at the time.

He proceeded to Lady Augusta's, and Constance was informed of his visit. She had three pupils at Lady Augusta's now, for that lady had kindly insisted that Constance should bring Annabel to study with her daughters, during the absence of Mrs. Channing. Constance left them to themselves and entered the drawing-room. Pretty Constance! so fresh, so lovely, in her simple muslin dress, and her braided hair. Mr. Huntley caught her hands, and imprinted a very fatherly kiss upon her fair forehead.

”That is from the absentees, Constance. I told them I should give it to you. And I bring you the bravest news, my dear. Mr. Channing was already finding benefit from his change; he was indeed. There is every hope that he will be restored.”

Constance was radiant with delight. To see one who had met and stayed with her father and mother at their distant sojourn, was almost like seeing her parents themselves.

”And now, my dear, I want a word with you about all those untoward trials and troubles, which appear to have come thickly during my absence,” continued Mr. Huntley. ”First of all, as to yourself. What mischief-making wind has been arising between you and William Yorke?”

The expression of Constance's face changed to sadness, and her cheeks grew crimson.

”My dear, you will not misunderstand me,” he resumed. ”I heard of these things at Borcette, and I said that I should undertake to inquire into them in the place of your father: just as he, health permitting him, would have undertaken for me in my absence, did any trouble arise to Ellen. Is it true that you and Mr. Yorke have parted?”

”Yes,” faltered Constance.

”And the cause?”

Constance strove to suppress her tears. ”You can do nothing, Mr. Huntley; nothing whatever. Thank you all the same.”

”He has made this accusation upon Arthur the plea for breaking off his engagement?”

”I could not marry him with this cloud upon me,” she murmured. ”It would not be right.”

”Cloud upon _you!_” hastily e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mr. Huntley. ”The accusation against Arthur was the sole cause, then, of your parting?”

”Yes; the sole cause which led to it.”

Mr. Huntley paused, apparently in thought. ”He is presented to Hazeldon Chapel, I hear. Did his rupture with you take place after that occurrence?”

”I see what you are thinking,” she impulsively cried, caring too much for Mr. Yorke not to defend him. ”The chief fault of the parting was mine. I felt that it would not do to become his wife, being--being--” she hesitated much--”Arthur's sister. I believe that he also felt it. Indeed, Mr. Huntley, there is no help for it; nothing can be done.”

”Knowing what I do of William Yorke, I am sure that the pain of separation must be keen, whatever may be his pride. Constance, unless I am mistaken, it is equally keen to you.”

Again rose the soft damask blush to the face of Constance. But she answered decisively. ”Mr. Huntley, I pray you to allow the subject to cease. Nothing can bring about the renewal of the engagement between myself and Mr. Yorke. It is irrevocably at an end.”

”Until Arthur shall be cleared, you mean?”

”No,” she answered--a vision of Hamish and his guilt flas.h.i.+ng across her--”I mean for good.”