Chapter Chapter 12 · Against Time

. Against Time

"There is a kind of Followers likewise, which are dangerous, being

indeed Espials; which enquire the Secrets of the House and beare

Tales of them."--BACON.

"Then give me leave that I may turn the key,

That no man enter till my tale be done."

Very possibly Chawner's interference in Mr. Bultitude's private affairs

has surprised others besides the victim of it; but the fact is that

there was a most unfortunate misunderstanding between them from the very

first, which prevented the one from seeing, the other from explaining,

the real state of the case.

Chawner, of course, no more guessed Paul's true name and nature than

anyone else who had come in contact with him in his impenetrable

disguise, and his motive for attempting to prevent an interview with the

Doctor can only, I fear, be explained by another slight digression.

The Doctor, from a deep sense of his responsibility for the morals of

those under his care, was perhaps a trifle over-anxious to clear his

moral garden of every noxious weed, and too constant in his vigilant

efforts to detect the growing shoot of evil from the moment it showed

above the surface.

As he could not be everywhere, however, it is evident that many

offences, trivial or otherwise, must have remained unsuspected and

unpunished, but for a theory which he had originated and took great

pains to propagate amongst his pupils.

The theory was that every right-minded boy ought to feel himself in such

a fiduciary position towards his master, that it became a positive duty

to acquaint him with any delinquencies he might happen to observe among

his fellows; and if, at the same time, he was oppressed by a secret

burden on his own conscience, it was understood that he might hope that

the joint revelation would go far to mitigate his own punishment.

It is doubtful whether this system, though I believe it is found

successful in Continental colleges, can be usefully applied to English

boys; whether it may not produce a habit of mutual distrust and

suspicion, and a tone the reverse of healthy.

For myself, I am inclined to think that a schoolmaster will find it

better in the long run, for both the character and morals of his school,

if he is not too anxious to play the detective, and refrains from

encouraging the more weak-minded or cowardly boys to save themselves by

turning "schoolmaster's evidence."

Dr. Grimstone thought otherwise; but it must be allowed that the system,

as in vogue at Crichton House, did not work well.

There were boys, of course, who took a sturdier view of their own rights

and duties, and despised the talebearers as they deserved; there were

others, also, too timid and too dependent on the good opinion of others

to risk the loss of it by becoming informers; but there were always one

or two whose consciences were unequal to the burden of their neighbour's

sin, and could only be relieved by frank and full confession.

Unhappily they had, as a general rule, contributed largely to the sum

of guilt themselves, and did not resort to disclosure until detection

seemed reasonably imminent.

Chawner was the leader of this conscientious band; he revelled in the

system. It gave him the means at once of gratifying the almost universal

love of power and of indulging a catlike passion for playing with the

feelings of others, which, it is to be hoped, is more uncommon.

He knew he was not popular, but he could procure most of the incidents

of popularity; he could have his little court of cringing toadies; he

could levy his tribute of conciliatory presents, and vent many private

spites and hatreds into the bargain--and he generally did.

Having himself a tendency to acts of sly disobedience, he found it a

congenial pastime to set the fashion from time to time in some one of

the peccadilloes to which boyhood is prone, and to which the Doctor's

somewhat restrictive code added a large number, and as soon as he saw a

sufficient number of his companions satisfactorily implicated, his

opportunity came.

He would take the chief culprits aside, and profess, in strict

confidence, certain qualms of conscience which he feared could only be

appeased by unburdening his guilt-laden soul.

To this none would have had any right to object--had it not necessarily,

or at least from Chawner's point of view, involved a full, true, and

particular account of the misdoings of each and every one; and

consequently, for some time after these professions of misgivings,

Chawner would be surrounded by a little crowd of anxiously obsequious

friends, all trying hard to overcome his scruples or persuade him at

least to omit their names from his revelations.

Sometimes he would affect to be convinced by their arguments and send

them away reassured; at others his scruples would return in an

aggravated form; and so he would keep them on tenterhooks of suspense

for days and weeks, until he was tired of the amusement--for this

practising on the fears of weaker natures is a horribly keen delight to

some--or until some desperate little dog, unable to bear his torture any

longer, would threaten to give himself up and make an end of it.

Then Chawner, to do him justice, always relieved him from so

disagreeable a necessity, and would go softly into the Doctor's study,

and, in a subdued and repentant tone, pour out his general confession

for the public good.

Probably the Doctor did not altogether respect the instruments he saw

fit to use in this way; some would have declined to hear the informer

out, flogged him well, and forgotten it; but Dr. Grimstone--though he

was hardly likely to be impressed by these exhibitions of noble candour,

and did not fail to see that the prospect of obtaining better terms for

the penitent himself had something to do with them--yet encouraged the

system as a matter of policy, went thoroughly into the whole affair, and

made it the cause of an explosion which he considered would clear the

moral atmosphere for some time to come.

I hope that, after this explanation, Chawner's opposition to Mr.

Bultitude's plans will be better understood.

After tea, he made Paul a little sign to follow him, and the two went

out together into the little glass-house beyond the schoolroom; it was

dark, but there was light enough from the room inside for them to see

each other's face.

"Now, sir," began Paul, with dignity, when he had closed the glass door

behind him, "perhaps you'll be good enough to tell me how you mean to

prevent me from seeing Dr. Grimstone, and telling him--telling him what

I have to tell him?"

"I'll tell you, Dickie," said Chawner, with an evil smirk. "You shall

know soon enough."

"Don't stand grinning at me like that, sir," said the angry Mr.

Bultitude; "say it out at once; it will make no difference to me, I give

you warning!"

"Oh, yes it will, though. I think it will. Wait. I heard all you said to

Grimstone in the study to-day about that girl--Connie Davenant, you

know."

"I don't care; I am innocent. I have nothing to reproach myself with."

"What a liar you are!" said Chawner, more in admiration than rebuke.

"You told him you never gave her any encouragement, didn't you? And he

said if he ever found you had, nothing could save you from a licking,

didn't he?"

"He did," said Paul, "he was quite right from his point of view--what

then?"

"Why, this," said Chawner: "Do you remember giving Jolland, the last

Sunday of last term, a note for that very girl?"

"I never did!" said poor Mr. Bultitude, "I never saw the wretched girl

before."

"Ah!" said Chawner, "but I've got the note in my pocket! Jolland was

seedy and asked me to take it for you, and I read it, and it was so

nicely written that I thought I should like to keep it myself, and so I

did--and here it is!"

And he drew out with great caution a piece of crumpled paper and showed

it to the horrified old gentleman. "Don't snatch ... it's rude; there it

is, you see: 'My dear Connie' ... 'yours ever, Dick Bultitude.' No, you

don't come any nearer ... there, now it's safe.... Now what do you mean

to do?"

"I--I don't know," said Paul, feeling absolutely checkmated. "Give me

time."

"I tell you what I mean to do; I shall keep my eye on you, and directly

I see you making ready to go to Grimstone, I shall get up first and take

him this ... then you'll be done for. You'd better give in, really,

Dickie!"

The note was too evidently genuine; Dick must have written it (as a

matter of fact he had; in a moment of pique, no doubt, at some caprice

of his real enslaver Dulcie's--but his fickleness brought fatal results

on his poor father's undeserving head)--if this diabolical Chawner

carried out his threats he would indeed be "done for"; he did not yet

fully understand the other's motive, but he thought that he feared lest

Paul, in declaring his own sorrows, might also accuse Tipping and Coker

of acts of cruelty and oppression, which Chawner proposed to denounce

himself at some more convenient opportunity; he hesitated painfully.

"Well?" said Chawner, "make up your mind; are you going to tell him, or

not?"

"I must!" said Paul hoarsely. "I promise you I shall not bring any other

names in ... I don't want to ... I only want to save myself--and I can't

stand it any longer. Why should you stand between me and my rights in

this currish way? I didn't know there were boys like you in the world,

sir; you're a young monster!"

"I don't mean you to tell the Doctor anything at all," said Chawner. "I

shall do what I said."

"Then do your worst!" said Paul, stung to defiance.

"Very well, then," returned Chawner meekly, "I will--and we'll see who

wins!"

And they went back to the schoolroom again, where Mr. Bultitude, boiling

with rage and seriously alarmed as well, tried to sit down and appear as

if nothing had happened.

Chawner sat down too, in a place from which he could see all Paul's

movements, and they both watched one another anxiously from the corners

of their eyes till the Doctor came in.

"It's a foggy evening," he said as he entered: "the younger boys had

better stay in. Chawner, you and the rest of the first form can go to

church; get ready at once."

Paul's heart leaped with triumph; with his enemy out of the way, he

could carry out his purpose unhindered. The same thing apparently

occurred to Chawner, for he said mildly, "Please, sir, may Richard

Bultitude come too?"

"Can't Bultitude ask leave for himself?" said the Doctor.

"I, sir!" said the horrified Paul, "it's a mistake--I don't want to go.

I--I don't feel very well this evening!"

"Then you see, Chawner, you misunderstood him. By the way, Bultitude,

there was something you were to tell me, I think?"

Chawner's small glittering eyes were fixed on Paul menacingly as he

managed to stammer that he did want to say something in private.

"Very well, I am going out to see a friend for an hour or so--when I

come back I will hear you," and he left the room abruptly.

Chawner would very probably have petitioned to stay in that evening as

well, had he had time and presence of mind to do so; as it was, he was

obliged to go away and get ready for church, but when his preparations

were made he came back to Paul, and leaning over him said with an

unpleasant scowl, "If I get back in time, Bultitude, we'll see whether

you baulk me quite so easily. If I come back and find you've done it--I

shall take in that letter!"

"You may do what you please then," said Paul, in a high state of

irritation, "I shall be well out of your reach by that time. Now have

the goodness to take yourself off."

As he went, Mr. Bultitude thought, "I never in all my life saw such a

fellow as that, never! It would give me real pleasure to hire someone to

kick him."

The evening passed quietly; the boys left at home sat in their places,

reading or pretending to read. Mr. Blinkhorn, left in charge of them,

was at his table in the corner noting up his diary. Paul was free for a

time to think over his position.

At first he was calm and triumphant; his dearest hopes, his

long-wished-for opportunity of a fair and unprejudiced hearing, were at

last to be fulfilled--Chawner was well out of the way for the best part

of two hours--the Doctor was very unlikely to be detained nearly so long

over one call; his one anxiety was lest he might not be able, after all,

to explain himself in a thoroughly effective manner--he planned out a

little scheme for doing this.

He must begin gradually of course, so as not to alarm the schoolmaster

or raise doubts of his sincerity or, worse still, his sanity. Perhaps a

slight glance at instances of extraordinary interventions of the

supernatural from the earliest times, tending to show the extreme

probability of their survival on rare occasions even to the present day,

might be a prudent and cautious introduction to the subject--only he

could not think of any, and, after all, it might weary the Doctor.

He would start somewhat in this manner: "You cannot, my dear sir, have

failed to observe since our meeting this year, a certain difference in

my manner and bearing"--one's projected speeches are somehow generally

couched in finer language than, when it comes to the point, the tongue

can be prevailed upon to utter. Mr. Bultitude learned this opening

sentence by heart, he thought it taking and neat, the sort of thing to

fix his hearer's attention from the first.

After that he found it difficult to get any further; he knew himself

that all he was about to describe was plain, unvarnished fact--but how

would it strike a stranger's ear? He found himself seeking ways in which

to tone down the glaring improbability of the thing as much as possible,

but in vain; "I don't know how I shall ever get it all out," he told

himself at last; "if I think about it much longer I shall begin to

disbelieve in it myself."

Here Biddlecomb came up in a confidential manner and sat down by Paul;

"Dick," he began, in rather a trembling voice, "did I hear the Doctor

say something about your having something to tell him?"

"Oh Lord, here's another of them now!" thought Paul. "You are right,

young sir," he said: "have you any objection? mention it, you know, if

you have, pray mention it. It's a matter of life and death to me, but if

you at all disapprove, of course that ought to be final!"

"No, but," protested Biddlecomb, "I, I daresay I've not treated you very

well lately, I----"

"You were kind enough to suggest several very uncommonly unpleasant ways

of annoying me, sir," said Paul resentfully, "if you mean that. You've

kicked me more than once, and your handkerchief, unless I am very much

mistaken, had the biggest and the hardest knot in it yesterday. If that

gives you the right to interfere and dictate to me now, like your

amiable friend, Master Chawner, I suppose you have it."

"Now you're angry," said Biddlecomb humbly; "I don't wonder at it. I've

behaved like a cad, I know, but, and this is what I wanted to say, I was

sorry for you all the time."

"That's very comforting," said Paul drily; "thank you. I'm vastly

obliged to you."

"I was, though," said Biddlecomb. "I, I was led away by the other

fellows--I always liked you, you know, Bultitude."

"You've a very odd way of showing your affection," remarked Mr.

Bultitude; "but go on, let me hear all you have to say."

"It isn't much," said Biddlecomb, quite broken down; "only don't sneak

of me this time, Dick, let me off, there's a good fellow. I'll stick up

for you after this, I will really. You used not to be a fellow for

sneaking once. It's caddish to sneak!"

"Don't be alarmed, my good friend," said Paul; "I won't poach on that

excellent young man Chawner's preserves. What I am going to tell the

Doctor has nothing to do with you."

"On your honour?" said Biddlecomb eagerly.

"Yes," said Paul testily, "on my honour. Now, perhaps, you'll let me

alone. No, I won't shake hands, sir. I've had to accept your kicks, but

I don't want your friendship."

Biddlecomb went off, looking slightly ashamed of himself but visibly

relieved from a haunting fear. "Thank goodness!" thought Paul, "he

wasn't as obstinate as the other fellow. What a set they are! I knew it,

there's another boy coming up now!"

And indeed one boy after another came up in the same way as Biddlecomb

had done, some cringing more than others, but all vowing that they had

never intended to do any harm, and entreating him to change his mind

about complaining of his ill-treatment. They brought little offerings to

propitiate him and prove the depth of their unaltered

regard--pencil-cases and pocket-knives, and so forth, until they drove

Paul nearly to desperation. However, he succeeded in dispelling their

fears after some hot arguments, and had just sent away the last

suppliant, when he saw Jolland too rise and come towards him.

Jolland leaned across Paul's desk with folded arms and looked him full

in the face with his shallow light green eyes. "I don't know what you've

said to all those chaps," he began; "they've come back looking precious

glum, but they won't tell me what you said," (Mr. Bultitude had in

satisfying their alarm taken care to let them know his private opinion

of them, which was not flattering), "but I've got something to say to

you, and it's this. I never thought you would quite come down to this

sort of thing!"

"What sort of thing?" said Paul, who was beginning to have enough of it.

"Why, going up and letting on against all of us--it's mean, you know. If

you have got bashed about pretty well since you came back, it's been

all your own fault, and you know it. Last term you got on well

enough--this time you began to be queer and nasty the very first day you

came. I thought it was one of your larks at first, but I don't know what

it is now, and I don't care. I stood up for you as long as I could, till

you acted like a funk yesterday. Then I took my share in lamming you,

and I'd do it again. But if you are cad enough to pay us all out in this

way, I'll have no more to do with you--mind that. That's all I came to

say."

This was an unpalatable way of putting things, but Paul could not help

seeing that there was some truth in it. Jolland had been kind to him,

too, in a careless sort of way, and at some cost to himself; so it was

with more mildness than temper that he answered him.

"You're on the wrong tack, my boy, the wrong tack. I've no wish to tell

tales of anyone, as I've been trying to explain to your friends. There's

something the matter with me which you wouldn't understand if I told

you."

"Oh, I didn't know," said Jolland, mollified; "if it's only physic you

want."

"Whatever it is," said Paul, not caring to undeceive him, "it won't

affect you or anyone here, but myself. You're not a bad young fellow, I

believe. I don't want to get you into trouble, sir; you don't want much

assistance, I'm afraid, in that department. So be off, like a good

fellow, and leave me in peace."

All these interviews had taken time. He was alarmed on looking at the

clock to see that it was nearly eight; the Doctor was a long time over

that call--for the first time he began to feel uneasy--he made hurried

mental calculations as to the probability of the Doctor or Chawner being

the first to return.

The walk to church took about twenty minutes; say the service took an

hour, allowing for the return, he might expect Chawner by about

half-past eight; it was striking the hour now--half an hour only in

which he could hope for any favourable result from the interview!

For he saw this plainly, that if Chawner were once permitted to get the

Doctor's ear first and show him that infamous love-note, no explanation

of his (even if he had nerve to make it then, which he doubted) could

possibly seem anything more than a desperate and far-fetched excuse; if

he could anticipate Chawner, on the other hand, and once convince the

Doctor of the truth of his story, the informer's malice would fall flat.

And still the long hand went rapidly on, as Mr. Bultitude sat staring

stupidly at it with a faint sick feeling--it had passed the quarter

now--why did the Doctor delay in this unwarrantable manner? What a farce

social civilities were--if he had allowed himself to be prevailed on to

stay to supper! Twenty minutes past; Chawner and the others might return

at any moment--a ring at the bell; they were there! all was over

now--no, he was saved, that was Dr. Grimstone's voice in the hall--what

an unconscionable time he was taking off his greatcoat and gloves.

But all comes to the man who waits. In another moment the Doctor looked

in, singled out Mr. Bultitude with a sharp glance, and a, "Now,

Bultitude, I will hear you!" and led the way to his study.

Paul staggered rather than walked after him: as usual at the critical

moment his carefully prepared opening had deserted him--his head felt

heavy and crowded--he wanted to run away, but forced himself to overcome

such a suicidal proceeding and follow to the study.

There was a lighted reading-lamp with a green glass shade upon the

table. The Doctor sat down by it in an armchair by the fire, crossed his

legs, and joined the tops of his fingers together. "Now, Bultitude," he

said again.

"Might I--might I sit down?" said poor Mr. Bultitude in a thick voice;

it was all that occurred to him to say.

"Sit by all means," said the Doctor blandly.

So Paul drew a chair opposite the Doctor and sat down. He tried

desperately to clear his head and throat and begin; but the only

distinct thought in his mind just then was that the green lamp-shade

lent a particularly ghastly hue to the Doctor's face.

"Take your time, Bultitude," said the latter, after a long minute, in

which a little skeleton clock on the mantelpiece ticked loudly--"there's

no hurry, my boy."

But this only reminded Paul that there was every need for hurry--Chawner

might come in, and follow him here, unless he made haste.

Still, he could only say, "You see me in a very agitated state, Dr.

Grimstone--a very agitated state, sir."

The Doctor gave a short, dry cough. "Well, Bultitude," he said.

"The fact is, sir, I'm in a most unfortunate position, and--and the

worst of it is, I don't know how to begin." Here he made another dead

stop, while the Doctor raised his heavy eyebrows, and looked at the

clock.

"Do you see any prospect of your finding yourself able to begin soon?"

he inquired at last, with rather suspicious suavity. "Perhaps if you

came to me later on----"

"Not for the world!" said Paul, in a highly nervous condition. "I shall

begin very soon, Doctor, I shall begin directly. Mine is such a very

singular case; it's difficult, as you see, to, to open it!"

"Have you anything on your mind?" asked the Doctor suddenly.

Paul could hear steps and voices in the adjoining cloakroom--the

churchgoers had returned. "Yes--no!" he answered, losing his head

completely now.

"That's a somewhat extraordinary, not to say an ambiguous, reply," said

the Doctor; "what am I to understand by----"

There was a tap at the door. Paul started to his feet in a panic. "Don't

let him in!" he shrieked, finding his voice at last. "Hear me first--you

shall hear me first! Say that other rascal is not to come in. He wants

to ruin me!"

"I was going to say I was engaged," said the Doctor; "but there's

something under this I must understand. Come in, whoever you are."

And the door opened softly, and Chawner stepped meekly in; he was rather

pale and breathed hard, but was otherwise quite composed.

"Now, then, Chawner," said the Doctor impatiently, "what is it? Have you

something on your mind, too?"

"Please, sir," said Chawner, "has Bultitude told you anything yet?"

"No, why? Hold your tongue, Bultitude. I shall hear Chawner now--not

you!"

"Because, sir," explained Chawner, "he knew I had made up my mind to

tell you something I thought you ought to know about him, and so he

threatened to come first and tell some falsehood (I'm sure I don't know

what) about me, sir. I think I ought to be here too."

"It's a lie!" shouted Paul, "What a villain that boy is! Don't believe a

word he says, Dr. Grimstone; it's all false--all!"

"This is very suspicious," said the Doctor; "if your conscience were

good, Bultitude, you could have no object in preventing me from hearing

Chawner. Chawner, in spite of some obvious defects in his character," he

went on, with a gulp (he never could quite overcome a repulsion to the

boy), "is, on the whole, a right-minded and, ah, conscientious boy. I

hear Chawner first."

"Then, sir, if you please," said Chawner, with an odious side smirk of

triumph at Paul, who, quite crushed by the horror of the situation, had

collapsed feebly on his chair again, "I thought it was my duty to let

you see this. I found it to-day in Bultitude's prayerbook, sir." And he

handed Dick's unlucky scrawl to the Doctor, who took it to the lamp and

read it hurriedly through.

After that there was a terrible moment of dead silence; then the Doctor

looked up and said shortly, "You did well to tell me of this, Chawner;

you may go now."

When they were alone once more he turned upon the speechless Paul with

furious scorn and indignation. "Contemptible liar and hypocrite," he

thundered, pacing restlessly up and down the room in his excitement,

till Paul felt very like Daniel, without his sense of security, "you are

unmasked--unmasked, sir! You led me to believe that you were as much

shocked and pained at this girl's venturing to write to you as I could

be myself. You called it, quite correctly, 'forward and improper'; you

pretended you had never given her the least encouragement--had not heard

her name even--till to-day. And here is a note, written, as I should

imagine, some time since, in which you address her as 'Connie Davenant,'

and have the impudence to admire the hat she wore the Sunday before! I

shudder, sir, to think of such duplicity, such precocious and shameless

depravity. It astounds me. It deprives me of all power to think!"

Paul made some faint and inarticulate remark about being a family

man--always most particular, and so forth--luckily it passed unheard.

"What shall I do with you?" continued the Doctor; "how shall I punish

such monstrous misconduct?"

"Don't ask _me_, sir," said Paul, desperately--"only, for heaven's sake,

get it over as soon as possible."

"If I linger, sir," retorted the Doctor, "it is because I have grave

doubts whether your offence can be expiated by a mere flogging--whether

that is not altogether too light a retribution."

"He can't want to _torture_ me," thought Paul.

"Yes," said the Doctor again, "the doubt has prevailed. On a mind so

hardened the cane would leave no lasting impression. I cannot allow your

innocent companions to run the risk of contamination from your society.

I must not permit this serpent to glide uncrushed, this cockatrice to

practise his epistolary wiles, within my peaceful fold. My mind is made

up--at whatever cost to myself--however it may distress and grieve your

good father, who is so pathetically anxious for you to do him credit,

sir. I must do my duty to the parents of the boys entrusted to my care.

I shall not flog you, sir, for I feel it would be useless. I shall expel

you."

"What!" Paul leaped up incredulous. "Expel me? Do I hear you aright, Dr.

Grimstone? Say it again--you will expel me?"

"I have said it," the Doctor said sternly; "no expostulations can move

me now" (as if Mr. Bultitude was likely to expostulate!) "Mrs. Grimstone

will see that your boxes are packed the first thing to-morrow morning,

and I shall take you myself to the station and consign you to the home

you have covered with blushes and shame, by the 9.15 train, and I shall

write a letter to-night explaining the causes for your dismissal."

Mr. Bultitude covered his face with his hands, to hide, not his shame

and distress, but his indecent rapture. It seemed almost too good to be

true! He saw himself about to be provided with every means of reaching

home in comfort and safety. He need dread no pursuit now. There was no

chance, either, of his being forced to return to the prison-house--the

Doctor's letter would convince even Dick of the impossibility of that.

And, best of all, this magnificent stroke of good luck had been obtained

without the ignominy and pain of a flogging, without even the unpleasant

necessity of telling his strange secret.

But (having gained some experience during his short stay at the school)

he had the duplicity to pretend to sob bitterly.

"But one night more, sir," continued the Doctor, "shall you pass beneath

this roof, and that apart from your fellows. You will occupy the spare

bedroom until the morning, when you quit the school in disgrace--for

ever."

I said in another chapter that this Sunday would find Paul, at its

close, after a trying course of emotions, in a state of delicious

ecstasy of pure relief and happiness--and really that scarcely seems too

strong an expression for his feelings.

When he found himself locked securely into a comfortable, warm bedroom,

with curtains and a carpet in it, safe from the persecutions of all

those terrible boys, and when he remembered that this was actually the

last night of his stay here--that he would certainly see his own home

before noon next day, the reaction was so powerful that he could not

refrain from skipping and leaping about the room in a kind of hysterical

gaiety.

And as he laid his head down on a yielding lavender-scented pillow, his

thoughts went back without a pang to the varied events of the day; they

had been painful, very painful, but it was well worth while to have gone

through them to appreciate fully the delightful intensity of the

contrast. He freely forgave all his tormentors, even Chawner--for had

not Chawner procured his release?--and he closed his eyes at last with a

smile of Sybaritic satisfaction and gentle longing for the Monday's dawn

to break.

And yet some, after his experiences, would have had their misgivings.