"You never will again!"
"When you are gone--"and the poor victim's voice died away.
"Tom, you will not stay after me. It is settled that when I go to Balliol, you leave Stoneborough, and go to Mr. Wilmot as pupil. Those scamps shall never have you in their clutches again."
It did not produce the ecstasy Norman had expected. The boy still sat on the ground, staring at his brother, as if the good news hardly penetrated the gloom; and, after a disappointing silence, recurred to the most immediate cause of distress: "Eight shillings and tenpence halfpenny! Norman, if you would only lend it to me, you shall have all my tin till I have made it up--sixpence a week, and half-a-crown on New Year's Day."
"I am not going to pay Mr. Axworthy's reckoning," said Norman, rather angrily. "You will never be better till you have told my father the whole."
"Do you think they will send in the bill to my father?" asked Tom, in alarm.
"No, indeed! that is the last thing they will do," said Norman; "but I would not have you come to him only for such a sneaking reason."
"But the girls would hear it. Oh, if I thought Mary and Margaret would ever hear it--Norman, I can't--"
Norman assured him that there was not the slightest reason that these passages should ever come to the knowledge of his sisters. Tom was excessively afraid of his father, but he could not well be more wretched than he was already; and he was brought to assent when Norman showed him that he had never been happy since the affair of the blotting-paper, when his father's looks and tones had become objects of dread to his guilty conscience. Was not the only means of recovering a place in papa's esteem to treat him with confidence?
Tom answered not, and would only shudder when his brother took upon him to declare that free confession would gain pardon even for the doings at the Green Man.
Tom had grown stupefied and passive, and his sole dependence was on Norman, so, at last, he made no opposition when his brother offered to conduct him to his father and speak for him. The danger now was that Dr. May should not be forthcoming, and the elder brother was as much relieved, as the younger was dismayed, to see, through the drawing-room window, that he was standing beside Margaret.
"Papa, can you come and speak to me," said Norman, "at the door?"
"Coming! What now?" said the doctor, entering the hall. "What, Tom, my boy, what is it?" as he saw the poor child, white, cold, almost sick with apprehension, with every pulse throbbing, and looking positively ill. He took the chilly, damp hand, which shook nervously, and would fain have withdrawn itself.
"Come, my dear, let us see what is amiss;" and before Tom knew what he was doing, he had seated him on his knee, in the arm-chair in the study, and was feeling his pulse. "There, rest your head! Has it not been aching all day?"
"I do not think he is ill," said Norman; "but there is something he thinks I had better tell you."
Tom would fain have been on his feet, yet the support of that shoulder was inexpressibly comfortable to his aching temples, and he could not but wait for the shock of being roughly shaken and put down. So, as his brother related what had occurred, he crouched and trembled more and more on his father's breast, till, to his surprise, he found the other arm passed round him in support, drawing him more tenderly close.
"My poor little fellow!" said Dr. May, trying to look into the drooping face, "I grieve to have exposed you to such usage as this! I little thought it of Stoneborough fellows!"
"He is very sorry," said Norman, much distressed by the condition of the culprit.
"I see it--I see it plainly," said Dr. May. "Tommy, my boy, why should you tremble when you are with me?"
"He has, been in great dread of your being displeased."
"My boy, do you not know how I forgive you?" Tom clung round his neck, as if to steady himself.
"Oh, papa! I thought you would never--"
"Nay, you need never have thought so, my boy! What have I done that you should fear me?"
Tom did not speak, but nestled up to him with more confidence. "There! that's better! Poor child! what he must have suffered! He was not fit for the place! I had thought him looking ill. Little did I guess the cause."
"He says his head has ached ever since Sunday," said Norman; "and I believe he has hardly eaten or slept properly since."
"He shall never be under their power again! Thanks to you, Norman. Do you hear that, Tommy?"
The answer was hardly audible. The little boy was already almost asleep, worn out with all he had undergone. Norman began to clear the sofa, that they might lay him down, but his father would not hear of disturbing him, and, sending Norman away, sat still for more than an hour, until the child slowly awoke, and scarcely recalling what had happened, stood up between his father's knees, rubbing his eyes, and looking bewildered.
"You are better now, my boy?"
"I thought you would be very angry," slowly murmured Tom, as the past returned on him.
"Never, while you are sorry for your faults, and own them freely."
"I'm glad I did," said the boy, still half asleep. "I did not know you would be so kind."
"Ah! Tom, I fear it was as much my fault as yours that you did not know it. But, my dear, there is a pardon that can give you better peace than mine."
"I think," muttered Tom, looking down--"I think I could say my prayers again now, if--"
"If what, my dear?"
"If you would help me, as mamma used--"
There could be but one response to this speech.
Tom was still giddy and unwell, his whole frame affected by the troubles of the last week, and Dr. May arranged him on the sofa, and desired him to be quiet, offering to send Mary to be his companion. Tom was languidly pleased, but renewed his entreaty, that his confession might be a secret from his sisters. Dr. May promised, and Mary, quite satisfied at being taken into favour, asked no questions, but spent the rest of the morning in playing at draughts with him, and in having inflicted on her the history of the Bloody Fire King's Ghost--a work of Tom's imagination, which he was wont to extemporise, to the extreme terror of much enduring Mary.
When Dr. May had called Mary, he next summoned Norman, who found him in the hall, putting on his hat, and looking very stern and determined.
"Norman!" said he hastily, "don't say a word--it must be done--Hoxton must hear of this."
Norman's face expressed utter consternation.
"It is not your doing. It is no concern of yours," said Dr. May, walking impetuously into the garden. "I find my boy ill, broken down, shattered--it is the usage of this crew of fellows--what right have I to conceal it--leave other people's sons to be so served?"
"I believe they did so to Tom out of ill-will to me," said Norman, "and because they thought he had ratted."
"Hush! don't argue against it," said Dr. May, almost petulantly. "I have stood a great deal to oblige you, but I cannot stand this. When it is a matter of corruption, base cruelty--no, Norman, it is not right--not another word!"
Norman's words had not been many, but he felt a conviction that, in spite of the dismay and pain to himself, Dr. May ought to meet with submission to his judgment, and he acquiesced by silence.
"Don't you see," continued the doctor, "if they act thus, when your back is turned, what is to happen next half? 'Tis not for Tom's sake, but how could we justify it to ourselves, to expose other boys to this usage?"
"Yes," said Norman, not without a sigh. "I suppose it must be."
"That is right," said Dr. May, as if much relieved. "I knew you must see it in that light. I do not mean to abuse your confidence."
"No, indeed," answered Norman warmly.
"But you see yourself, that where the welfare of so many is at stake, it would be wickedness--yes, wickedness--to be silent. Could I see that little fellow prostrated, trembling in my arms, and think of those scamps inflicting the same on other helpless children--away from their homes!"