In the meantime Richard was studying hard at home, with greater hopefulness and vigour than he had ever thrown into his work before. "Suppose," Ethel had once said to him, "that when you are a clergyman, you could be Curate of Cocksmoor, when there is a church there."
"When?" said Richard, smiling at the presumption of the scheme, and yet it formed itself into a sort of definite hope. Perhaps they might persuade Mr. Ramsden to take him as a curate with a view to Cocksmoor, and this prospect, vague as it was, gave an object and hope to his studies. Every one thought the delay of his examination favourable to him, and he now read with a determination to succeed. Dr. May had offered to let him read with Mr. Harrison but Richard thought he was getting on pretty well, with the help Norman gave him; for it appeared that ever since Norman's return from London,, he had been assisting Richard, who was not above being taught by a younger brother; while, on the other hand, Norman, much struck by his humility, would not for the world have published that he was fit to act as his elder's tutor.
One evening, when the two boys came in from school, Tom gave a great start, and, pulling Mary by the sleeve, whispered, "How came that book here?"
"It is Mr. Harrison's."
"Yes, I know, but how came it here?"
"Richard borrowed it to look out something, and Ethel brought it down."
A little reassured, Tom took up an exciting story-book, and ensconced himself by the fire, but his agonies were great during the ensuing conversation.
"Norman," Ethel was exclaiming in delight, "do you know this book?"
"Smith? Yes, it is in the school library."
"There's everything in it that one wants, I do believe. Here is such an account of ancient galleys--I never knew how they managed their banks of rowers before--oh! and the Greek houses--look at the pictures too."
"Some of them are the same as Mr. Rivers's gems," said Norman, standing behind her, and turning the leaves, in search of a favourite.
"Oh! what did I see? is that ink?" said Flora, from the opposite side of the table.
"Yes, didn't you hear?" said Ethel. "Mr. Harrison told Ritchie when he borrowed it, that unluckily one day this spring he left it in school, and some of the boys must have upset an inkstand over it; but, though he asked them all round, each denied it. How I should hate for such things to happen! and it was a prize-book too."
While Ethel spoke she opened the marked page, to show the extent of the calamity, and as she did so Mary exclaimed, "Dear me! how funny! why, how did Harry's blotting-paper get in there?"
Tom shrank into nothing, set his teeth, and pinched his fingers, ready to wish they were on Mary's throat, more especially as the words made some sensation. Richard and Margaret exchanged looks, and their father, who had been reading, sharply raised his eyes and said, "Harry's blotting-paper! How do you know that, Mary?"
"It is Harry's," said she, all unconscious, "because of that anchor up in one corner, and the Union Jack in the other. Don't you see, Ethel?"
"Yes," said Ethel; "nobody drew that but Harry."
"Ay, and there are his buttons," said Mary, much amused and delighted with these relics of her beloved Harry. "Don't you remember one day last holidays, papa desired Harry to write and ask Mr. Ernescliffe what clothes he ought to have for the naval school, and all the time he was writing the letter, he was drawing sailors' buttons on his blotting-paper. I wonder how ever it got into Mr. Harrison's book!"
Poor Mary's honest wits did not jump to a conclusion quite so fast as other people's, and she little knew what she was doing when, as a great discovery, she exclaimed, "I know! Harry gave his paper-case to Tom. That's the way it got to school!"
"Tom!" exclaimed his father, suddenly and angrily, "where are you going?"
"To bed," muttered the miserable Tom, twisting his hands. A dead silence of consternation fell on all the room. Mary gazed from one to the other, mystified at the effect of her words, frightened at her father's loud voice, and at Tom's trembling confusion. The stillness lasted for some moments, and was first broken by Flora, as if she had caught at a probability. "Some one might have used the first blotting-paper that came to hand."
"Come here, Tom," said the doctor, in a voice not loud, but trembling with anxiety; then laying his hand on his shoulder, "Look in my face." Tom hung his head, and his father put his hand under his chin, and raised the pale terrified face. "Don't be afraid to tell us the meaning of this. If any of your friends have done it, we will keep your secret. Look up, and speak out. How did your blotting- paper come there?"
Tom had been attempting his former system of silent sullenness, but there was anger at Mary, and fear of his father to agitate him, and in his impatient despair at thus being held and questioned, he burst out into a violent fit of crying.
"I can't have you roaring here to distress Margaret," said Dr. May. "Come into the study with me."
But Tom, who seemed fairly out of himself, would not stir, and a screaming and kicking scene took place, before he was carried into the study by his brothers, and there left with his father. Mary, meantime, dreadfully alarmed, and perceiving that, in some way, she was the cause, had thrown herself upon Margaret, sobbing inconsolably, as she begged to know what was the matter, and why papa was angry with Tom--had she made him so?
Margaret caressed and soothed her to the best of her ability, trying to persuade her that, if Tom had done wrong, it was better for him it should be known, and assuring her that no one could think her unkind, nor a tell-tale; then dismissing her to bed, and Mary was not unwilling to go, for she could not bear to meet Tom again, only begging in a whisper to Ethel, "that, if dear Tom had not done it, she would come and tell her."
"I am afraid there is no hope of that!" sighed Ethel, as the door closed on Mary.
"After all," said Flora, "he has not said anything. If he has only done it, and not confessed, that is not so bad--it is only the usual fashion of boys."
"Has he been asked? Did he deny it?" said Ethel, looking in Norman's face, as if she hardly ventured to put the question, and she only received sorrowful signs as answers. At the same moment Dr. May called him. No one spoke. Margaret rested her head on the sofa, and looked very mournful, Richard stood by the fire without moving limb or feature, Flora worked fast, and Ethel leaned back on an arm-chair, biting the end of a paper-knife.
The doctor and Norman came back together. "I have sent him up to bed," said Dr. May. "I must take him to Harrison to-morrow morning. It is a terrible business!"
"Has he confessed it?" said Margaret.
"I can hardly call such a thing a confession--I wormed it out bit by bit--I could not tell whether he was telling truth or not, till I called Norman in."
"But he has not said anything more untrue--"
"Yes, he has though!" said Dr. May indignantly. "He said Ned Anderson put the paper there, and had been taking up the ink with it- -'twas his doing--then when I came to cross-examine him I found that though Anderson did take up the ink, it was Tom himself who knocked it down--I never heard anything like it--I never could have believed it!"
"It must all be Ned Anderson's doing!" cried Flora. "They are enough to spoil anybody."
"I am afraid they have done him a great deal of harm," said Norman.