Louis' School Days Part 45

Hamilton shook his head.

"Have you any idea how your bag came there?"

"Please don't ask me any questions about that, Hamilton. Will you not believe I am innocent?"

"I fully believe your story, Louis, but I know you have been in bad company lately, and I wish to help you to clear yourself. Tell me all you know. If you have ever had even the least hand in any thing like this, make a friend of me, and tell me at once. Have you not some idea who put your bag there?"

"I may guess, you know," said Louis, evasively; "but, Hamilton, I do a.s.sure you, I never had any thing to do with any robbery here at all--never once."

"If you do not know who has done it, then," said Hamilton, "I am sure your _guess_ is a very accurate one--whom do you _guess_?"

"I cannot tell you, Hamilton; you mustn't ask me."

"This is only nonsense," said Reginald, impatiently. "Are you going to make a martyr of yourself for a set of bad fellows who are a disgrace to the school?"

"They may tell themselves, perhaps," said Louis, "but I will not."

"Louis!" said Hamilton, seriously, "this is folly; don't let a mistaken notion of honor induce you to screen these bad boys from their just punishment. By doing so, you are doing an injury to others as well as yourself. You must remember, that these evil-disposed boys are still mixing with others, to whom their example and principles may do much harm, independently of the evil done to themselves by being allowed to sin with impunity. Louis, you were saying just now, that you were very unfortunate--they are the most unfortunate whose crimes are undiscovered, and therefore unchecked. If you are, as you say, innocent of any partic.i.p.ation in this affair, why should you wish to conceal what you know, or, at least, telling me whom you lent your bag to?"

"I did not lend it at all lately," said Louis, raising his face from the pillow, where he had hidden it. "The thing is, Hamilton," continued he, very sorrowfully, "I am called a tell-tale, and I know I deserve it; but the worst is, they call me a hypocrite, and say that religious people are no better than others. I could bear it if it were only myself, but it is more, and I have given reasons for them to say all kinds of things," he added, and burst anew into tears. "But do not make me tell any more tales. I have promised, Hamilton--I dare not--I _will_ not break my promise!"

Hamilton made no immediate reply, and the loud ringing of the dinner-bell obliged him to leave Louis to himself.

"If it is a promise, Louis," he said, as he left the room with Reginald, "I won't urge you to break it; but remember well how the promise was made--remember the consequences."

"Reginald," he added, when they had closed the door, "I have a clue; depend upon it, he won't be much the worse, poor fellow. But the doctor knows him well, I am sure."

Reginald stole away after dinner to sit with Louis, and to endeavor to persuade him to disclose all his suspicions, but all he could obtain was a kind of half-promise to clear it up, after he had seen how the matter would end; and the subject caused him so much distress, that Reginald at length left it alone.

"Sit down by my side, dear Reginald," said Louis, "and tell me again that you forgive me. I cannot think how I could be so unkind to you as I have been lately, when you were so anxious about me. I have been ungrateful to every body."

"Don't make yourself miserable," said Reginald, as gayly as he could.

"I know I am hasty and cross, and don't go the right way to help you; but you had spoiled me by being so very gentle before, and I didn't understand your having any spirit."

"It was a very wrong spirit," replied Louis; "the fact is, Reginald, I have not been serving G.o.d lately, though at first I did not know it myself. I thought I did a great many things when I came back to school, because it would glorify G.o.d; when, I really believe now, the reason was--to be praised for it. Every one seemed to think so much of me, and that every thing I did was right. I have wished so many times lately, that all the trouble of last half-year might come again if I should be so happy. But, Reginald, when the boys would not speak to me, then I knew by my angry feelings that I only cared for myself; and I saw that I had not been serving G.o.d, and I became afraid to pray.

Sometimes so strangely, when I knew I was in the wrong, and that I ought to pray for help to be better, yet I wanted to look grand, and to show I didn't care, and I never used the time I had, and that's very little here, Reginald. I have been thinking of myself almost ever since I came back--I have been thinking of glorifying myself!" He paused, and then added, in a lower tone, "I fancied I was not selfish, but now I _know_ I am!"

When Reginald went away, Louis had long and quiet time to trace the reason of his sad falling away, and to make his peace with Him whose great name he had so dishonored. Earnestly, humbly, and sorrowfully did he confess his faults. How bowed to the earth he felt, in the consciousness of his utter impotence! He remembered how confident he had been in his good name; and now he became aware, in this silent self-examination, how mixed his motives had been, how full of vanity and vain-glory he had been, how careless in waiting for "more grace,"

how little he had thought of pressing forward, how wanting he had been in that single heart that thought only of doing the work committed to him regardless of the approbation of men--that only desired to know what was right in order fearlessly to follow it; and unutterable were the tearful desires of his heart that he might be strengthened for the time to come to walk more worthy of the vocation wherewith he was called.

CHAPTER XXIV.

"I will heal their backslidings, I will love them freely; for mine anger is turned away from him. Ephraim shall say, What have I to do any more with idols?"--Hosea xiv. 4, 8.

"I will hear what G.o.d the Lord will speak: for He will speak peace to His people, and to His saints, but let them not turn again to folly."--Psalm lx.x.xv. 8.

Louis awoke from a calm, sound sleep very early the next morning, with a dim, indistinct recollection of having, when half awake during the night, seen Dr. Wilkinson standing by him, and of a consciousness of a hand being laid on his forehead and his hands; but, as he did not feel certain, much less suppose it likely, he settled that he must have dreamed it. It was quite dark when he awoke, and it was some few minutes before the events of the preceding day ranged themselves in any order in his mind; and then his thoughts flew to that rest whence they had been so long absent.

In about half an hour, several of his school-fellows began to rouse themselves, and, a candle or two being lighted, dressing was hastily accomplished; and, rolling themselves up in counterpanes and blankets, shawl fas.h.i.+on, they proceeded to pore over the books they had brought up the night before.

"I don't mean to get up," growled Frank; "it's a great deal more comfortable in bed. Clifton, bring me my candle here, and put it on that chair--I shall make a studium of my couch."

"Dr. Wilkinson asked if we read with candles near the beds," said Clifton. "He said he wouldn't have us read in bed unless it were daylight, Digby."

"Well, we'll suppose he didn't," said Frank, "so come along."

"No, I won't," said Clifton, sitting down, near a chest of drawers, on which was a candle, the joint property of himself, Reginald, and Louis.

"You won't, won't you?" said Frank, coolly; "Reginald, my candle's near you, I'll trouble you for it."

"You must take the consequences, then," said Reginald, "for I heard the doctor say so."

"_I_ didn't," said Frank, snuffing his candle, and opening a book; "Meredith, I'd advise you to follow my example."

"I followed it yesterday, and fell asleep in uncomfortable snoozes till the bell rang," yawned Meredith. "Reading one word and dreaming six may be entertaining, but it is certainly not instructive."

There was very little noise, and Louis lay for some time in deep thought. At length he moved as if with the intention of getting up, when Reginald started up and planted his beaming face over him so as to prevent his rising:

"Awake at last, Louis?"

"Yes, I have been awake a long time."

"You've been very quiet."

"How happy you look!" said Louis; "I could almost fancy you had something to tell."

"What will you give me for my news?"

"I am afraid I can offer nothing but thanks," replied Louis, smiling.

"What should you say if I were to tell you Ca.s.son was gone?"

"Ca.s.son _gone_!" exclaimed Louis, starting up in spite of his brother's incubian overseers.h.i.+p. "Where? When? How? Was he ill?

What was the matter?"

"He went home yesterday evening by the London coach. He was in perfect bodily health. The matter was, that the magister wouldn't keep him."

"What! _expelled_, Reginald?" said Louis, aghast.

"Expelled, Louis," Reginald replied, gravely; "don't look so frightened; he deserved it."

"Oh, Reginald! it is so terrible! But how--why was it so sudden?"

"Ah, Beauty!" said Frank, "a few wonders have happened while your ladys.h.i.+p has been sleeping there. What will you say to Harris going, too?"