No more waiting was to be thought of. He must go on, if he meant really to escape; or be caught, and so have all the trouble and fright for nothing, or at least not for nothing. He knew if he were caught, his stay at school would only be a very short one; and better anything than be caned, and afterwards expelled.

So he scrambled up the garden-wall, and his eyes brightened as he saw the hard, highroad that would lead him away from this place of torture.

To right the road ran down towards the village: to left it led to the school, and to the entrance of Doctor Palmer's house; and, further on, to the neighbouring town.

He was preparing to jump down, when again the sound of a footstep checked and terrified him. If it were coming up from the village, the pa.s.ser-by would of course see him. If it were coming from the school, the same result would be fatal to him. The only hope was, that it was a retreating step of some one who had pa.s.sed while his attention was drawn off by the noise of those who were searching for him.

He stretched out his head and looked down the road. No one there. So far he was safe. He looked up the road; and there was a well-known figure, magnified and looking very gaunt in the moonlight. It was the Doctor. But--and Harry could scarcely believe his eyes for joy--he was going away from where his runaway pupil crouched trembling on the wall.

He must have pa.s.sed just before he climbed up. The Doctor seemed to be walking so perversely slow, actually strolling, Harry thought. When would he turn the corner?

Fainter, however, grew the footsteps, and at length the portly figure disappeared. And then, jumping hastily from the wall, with a slip on to the road, and scrambling to pick himself up, Harry ran as hard as his legs would carry him down towards Wilton village.

CHAPTER XIV.

AT SLEEP AT LAST.

Mingled feelings--Sore perplexity--Cherishing vengeance--'Ware the dog--Want of reflection--In the churchyard--Footsteps--A strange bed.

He did not stop running till he had put nearly three-quarters of a mile between him and the school. And then two considerations brought him to a standstill. Firstly, he was out of breath; he could scarcely run a step farther; and secondly, he was now close into the heart of the village, and the groups of lounging figures he espied in the distance warned him he must be careful how he proceeded. About two hundred yards in advance was a public house--"The Blue Anchor;" and here, of course, was a goodly knot of men, some inside drinking, some outside smoking, and all making a most disreputable noise. There were also one or two women in amongst the crowd, evidently searching for truant sons or husbands, and Harry feared their inquisitive eyes even more than he feared the men. For he remembered he was covered with dust and dirt from his scramble; his hair all rough; hatless, and generally untidy.

Besides, what business had a boy of his age and station in life to be wandering about a village, alone, at half-past nine?

So he retraced his steps a short distance, until he came to a stile leading to a lane which skirted the village; and which, running past the farm and the church, as before-mentioned, joined the highroad at the further end of the village.

Once in the lane, and safe from sight, he slackened his pace; and then, with the feeling of comparative safety, came very mingled feelings of exultation, loneliness, and fear--each striving to have the uppermost in the poor boy's heart.

Hitherto the excitement of achieving that vague performance of running away from school had pre-occupied him, and kept away all thoughts of the future. But the dangers of the escape were now all overcome, or at least Harry thought they were. What, then, was the next thing to be done? Should he go to Mrs Valentine? If he went there, perhaps she would send him back to school. And besides, the farm would be shut up, and every one gone to bed. How should he attract Mrs Valentine's attention; and make her come down and let him in? The dog was always loose at night, to keep intruders off. He would be sure to fly at him, if he attempted to go near the place.

So Harry was very sore perplexed, and began to think that running away was not such an easy thing after all. And he remembered that Egerton was the cause of all this trouble. Had it not been for him, he would have been at school; motherless, it is true, but not in disgrace as he was; sad at heart, but not hated and suspected by boys and masters.

Egerton! Egerton had caused it all! And Harry longed for revenge. He would treasure up his hatred, his thirst for vengeance, and some day, perhaps, he would meet the one who had done him this wrong, and then the debt should be paid off. This feeling of revenge was already firmly rooted in his heart, already beginning to be the one purpose of his life.

He would go on towards the farm, at any rate, and see how things stood.

Perhaps the dog was not loose that night, or if it were, might recognise him.

So, plucking up his spirits, he ran along the lane towards the little farm, where he had been so happy with his dear dead mother, and towards the quiet churchyard, whose coverlet of green was over her.

He was not long reaching the farm, and went cautiously up to the gate.

Not a sound! not a light in any window! There was the great silver moon making everything as bright almost as day, and there was the slow munching of the cows in the adjoining orchard. Harry's heart rose higher. No dog! not a sign of him! He put his hand to open the gate.

The latch stuck. He pushed harder; it flew open with a sharp click, and he had not time to listen whether the sound had been heard or no, when a dog's low growl solved the question.

He started back from the gate, which fell to with a loud crash. It was all up now. Out rushed the dog, barking fiercely, and off rushed Harry simultaneously. And naturally enough, too. It is not pleasant to be mauled by a huge mastiff.

Had the idea struck him, he would have kept at a respectful distance, and there waited in hopes that the baying of the dog would disturb the inmates of the house, and that on their coming out to discover the reason, he would gain his object of being let in.

But it is very doubtful whether a much older and, therefore, more thoughtful person than Harry would have considered anything but the fierceness of the dog, and the desirability of getting away as quickly, and as far, as possible.

So Harry bolted down the lane at headlong speed, while the dog, seeing the intruder depart, only uttered a few self-satisfied growls, and returned to his mat in the porch, conscious that he had done his duty.

At the same moment, Mrs Valentine opened her window and put out a night-capped head into the moonlight, and craning it all round, to see what was the matter, and seeing nothing extraordinary, put it in again, with a slight shiver.

Good soul! how little she dreamt of the apparently-trifling episode enacted underneath her window! How gladly would she have welcomed the runaway frightened boy! And how different that boy's after life would have been had she but wakened sooner.

Meanwhile, Harry was stopping at the churchyard-gate. He longed to go in. He hesitated. On another occasion, and in his mother's lifetime, he would not have dared to go inside the wicket after dark. But now, now he was going away, he knew not where! Out into the world, and that seemed a very long way off to Harry. It was like another country.

Besides, what would hurt him while she was there, he asked himself?

So, without more ado, he pa.s.sed through the creaking gate, up the lime-tree avenue, heedless of the ghost-like shadows of the tombstones, and the rustle of the fragrant leaves.

It was soon found, that little gra.s.sy mound in the corner by the ivy-covered porch. And then he could bear up no longer. He burst into tears, and throwing himself on the dewy moonlit sward, wept bitterly.

"Oh, mamma, mamma, why did you die? why did you die? What shall I do?"

he sobbed in a low, excited tone, "I'm so lonely, mamma! mamma!"

And the quiet night stole on, and the soft winds of June whispered over the motherless boy, weeping there alone in the churchyard.

The sound of footsteps! Harry jumped up and listened, eager, and frightened. The churchyard wicket was opened and shut again, and then he heard a steady measured tread of persons slowly approaching. He was riveted to the spot, and a cold perspiration broke upon his forehead.

The steps were nearing, and then, rounding the corner of the tower, the new comers came into sight.

One look was enough, and Harry was off down the other path that led from the churchyard to the further end of the village.

It was only a funeral of a drowned man who had been picked up the previous night upon the sh.o.r.e of Wilton. But the dark, slow-moving figures of the bearers, and the flickering gleam of the lanthorns, made dim by the moonshine, froze his heart with terror, and drove him away from his mother's grave without one word of parting. Perhaps it was better so. It saved him the difficulty and sorrow of having to decide to say good-bye for ever to that gra.s.sy sleeping-place where slept the one so dear to him.

Away he ran, heedless, frightened, through the straggling remainder of the village. Not a light was burning, not a person stirring, which was fortunate, though he never paused to see; or think, but hastened on till he fancied he had gone miles; and then, seeing an inviting barn close by the roadside, turned in, and, worn out with fatigue and excitement, soon slept heavily in a low, broken manger full of hay--a strange but welcome bed.

CHAPTER XV.

THE BITERS BIT.

Excitement in school--Expecting a row--The doctor speaks--Deliberate falsehood--The truth comes out--The two culprits--Manly confession--Mr Franklyn speaks--Honest shame--Egerton convicted--The doctor's speech--Warburton caned--Egerton birched--Justification.

The bright fresh summer hour of seven, the following morning, was very different in the barn where Harry had taken up his abode to what it was at the grammar-school. In the former, it saw the tired lonely boy sleeping heavily, his face stained with tears; in the latter, a great stir and confusion. Campbell had run away. The search in the night had been fruitless; and to add to the general excitement, that morning the Examiner was to commence the _viva voce_ part of the examination.

The hour of preparation, from seven to eight, was not a very industrious one. Boys were too full of surmises, and Mr Prichard, who happened that morning to be in charge of the school-room, was too much disturbed about Harry's disappearance to pay much attention to the whispers which were spreading through the room. Breakfast, too, was by no means the usual ordinarily quiet meal.

The only boys who betrayed any symptoms of nervousness or uneasiness (all were excited, of course) were those who had joined Egerton and Warburton in their a.s.sault on Harry the previous night.

These looked guilty; but their ringleaders preserved the utmost coolness and indifference; and a casual observer, if asked, would have said, "Well, if there are two boys more than any others who certainly have nothing to do with the whole affair, those two are Egerton and Warburton."

So much for guilt, and the mask it can so well a.s.sume.

Before the nine o'clock bell had ceased ringing, every boy was in his place in the big school-room--a rare occurrence, indeed--waiting eagerly for the appearance of the Doctor. For boys like nothing better than a "row" when they themselves are not implicated. And remember, those who were so implicated were but an exceedingly small fraction of the whole number. What the guilty ones felt will best be known by those who have been in a similar position.

Dr Palmer entered with the Examiner, a fresh-coloured young man, in a very new gown, and a very new hood, thrown jauntily over his shoulders.

The doctor was grave and stern, and looked at n.o.body. The Examiner played with his watch-chain, and looked at everybody, running his eyes rapidly along the different desks and forms. And the other masters followed in due order. And, when all were in their respective places, prayers were said, and Dr Palmer, amid breathless silence, spoke as follows: