"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!"

"I see, I see!" said Norman, carried along by the indignation and tenderness that agitated his father's voice in his vehemence--"it is the only thing to be done."

"It would be sharing the guilt to hide it," said Dr. May.

"Very well," said Norman, still reluctantly. "What do you wish me to do?

You see, as dux, I know nothing about it. It happened while I was away."

"True, true," said his father. "You have learned it as brother, not as senior boy. Yes, we had better have you out of the matter. It is I who complain of their usage of my son."

"Thank you," said Norman, with gratitude.

"You have not told me the names of these fellows! No, I had best not know them."

"I think it might make a difference," hesitated Norman.

"No, no, I will not hear them. It ought to make none. The fact is the same, be they who they may."

The doctor let himself out at the garden gate, and strode off at a rapid pace, conscious perhaps, in secret, that if he did not at once yield to the impulse of resentment, good nature would overpower the sense of justice. His son returned to the house with a heavy sigh, yet honouring the generosity that had respected his scruples, when merely his own worldly loss was involved, but set them aside when the good of others was concerned. By-and-by Dr. May reappeared. The head-master had been thoroughly roused to anger, and had begged at once to examine May junior, for whom his father was now come.

Tom was quite unprepared for such formidable consequences of his confession, and began by piteous tears and sobs, and when these had, with some difficulty, been pacified, he proved to be really so unwell and exhausted, that his father could not take him to Minster Street, and was obliged to leave him to his brother's keeping, while he returned to the school.

Upon this, Dr. Hoxton came himself, and the sisters were extremely excited and alarmed by the intelligence that he was in the study with papa and Tom.

Then away went the gentlemen; and Mary was again called to comfort Tom, who, broken down into the mere longing for sympathy, sobbed out all his troubles to her, while her eyes expanded more and more in horror, and her soft heart giving way, she cried quite as pitifully, and a great deal more loudly; and so the other sisters learned the whole, and Margaret was ready for her father when he came in, in the evening, harassed and sorrowful. His anger was all gone now, and he was excessively grieved at finding that the ringleaders, Samuel Axworthy and Edward Anderson, could, in Dr. Hoxton's opinion, receive no sentence but expulsion, which was to be pronounced on them on Monday.

Sam Axworthy was the son of a low, uneducated man, and his best chance had been the going to this school; but he was of a surly, obstinate temper, and showed so little compunction, that even such superabundant kindness as Dr. May's could not find compassion for him; especially since it had appeared that Tom had been by no means the only victim, and that he had often been the promoter of the like malpractices, which many boys were relieved to be forced to expose.

For Edward Anderson, however, or rather for his mother, Dr. May was very sorry, and had even interceded for his pardon; but Dr. Hoxton, though slow to be roused, was far less placable than the other doctor, and would not hear of anything but the most rigorous justice.

"Poor Mrs. Anderson, with her pride in her children!" Flora spoke it with a shade of contemptuous pity, but it made her father groan.

"I shall never be able to look in her face again! I shall never see that boy without feeling that I have ruined him!"

"He needed nobody to do that for him," said Flora.

"With every disadvantage!" continued Dr. May; "unable even to remember his father! Why could I not be more patient and forbearing?"

"Oh, papa!" was the general cry--Norman's voice giving decision to the sisters' exclamation.