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Amongst the latter were Egerton and Warburton. In about five minutes a step was heard on the landing-place below. |
"Gas out," cried Egerton, "there's Lea coming." |
"Lea" was a house-master. |
No one moved to obey the order. |
"Now, then," cried Warburton, "who's new boy?" Harry, where he knelt at his bedside saying his prayers, knew he was meant; but he had not jumped up from his knees to obey the order, when a slipper came hard at him. He, however, first put out the gas, and was on his knees again, finishing his prayers, when Mr Lea entered. All being quiet, and the light out, he retired. As soon as his last step was heard below, one or two voices exclaimed -- |
"I say, Jackson, go on with your story, where you left off last night." |
"Oh, no," answered Jackson, the boy appealed to, "I ain't new boy now. I've done my turn." |
The majority of the boys did not quite like to tell Harry plainly it was his turn to provide the usual nightly amusement of a story, for they felt some sort of compunction towards him, because of his mother's death, even though they had not spoken to him; but they did not hesitate to talk pointedly about its being the new boy's turn; that Jackson had done his turn; he was the last new boy, and so on. |
But as Harry took no notice of these remarks, Egerton solved the difficulty by saying curtly, -- |
"Campbell, it's your turn to tell a story, so look sharp, and begin." |
"I haven't got one to tell," answered Harry, as he sat, still undressed, on his bed, unlacing his boots. |
"Can't help that," said Egerton, "you must make up one. You're a good hand at that, aren't you?" he sneered, brutally. |
Those few words clenched the feeling of hatred that had been gradually growing in Harry's breast towards Egerton. Then first sprang up within him a great desire of revenge, which in after years increased with Harry's growth -- of revenge on one who had thus blasted his reputation, it seemed for ever. It is true, he had but shortly risen from his knees. But do not call his prayers hypocritical, because these angry, revengeful thoughts had taken such root in him so soon. If we had not these passions we should be divine. The only strange thing is, he was so young; for "vengeance" is usually only the cry of those of mature age. But a consideration of the circumstances in which he was placed, and the advanced temperament of his mind, will make the wonder vanish. |
Harry took no notice of Egerton's speech as far as an answer was concerned. He went on unlacing his boots in silence; but he felt his face burn white with anger. |
"Now then, Campbell," cried Egerton, "none of your sulks; it won't do. Are you going to tell a story or not?" |
"No," answered Harry, bluntly and firmly. |
"But it's your turn, Campbell," expostulated some of the others, wanting the story, but yet not wanting a row. |
"I'd have tried to, if Egerton hadn't said that," answered Harry to the last speakers, whose tone seemed somewhat consolatory to him. |
"Hadn't said what?" they asked. |
"Why, said that I knew how to tell stories. You know what he meant, and it's beastly bullying, it is," went on Harry, impetuously and indignantly, "and he knows he's the liar, and not me," waxing bold from the apparent sympathy the silence of the room seemed to augur. But in that silence the anger of Egerton, and of a number of his special friends, was gathering; and the words were scarcely out of Harry's mouth, when a boot came through the darkness, hitting him on the shoulder, and then another, and another. |
Harry sat on his bed, boiling with rage. He did not feel in the mood for fighting, and besides, in the dark it was impossible. |
Then came another ominous silence; and suddenly a scuffle of feet sounded near his bed, and before he knew where he was, his bed was suddenly dragged out into the middle of the room, turned over, and clothes, boots, sponges, wet towels, and pillows heaped upon him. |
Harry was maddened: he longed to find some one to hit, but the darkness prevented that. He heard suppressed voices laughing at him, but could see not a sign of any one; the bedclothes entangled his movements; he was wet with the sponges and bruised from the boots. What could he do? Where could he find help? "Not at school, not at school," he said to himself. "If I tell, I shan't be believed;" and then the idea came across him -- "I'll run away." The thought was no sooner in his head, than his mind was firmly resolved. Yes, he would run away from this horrid place; anywhere, anywhere, rather than stay here. |
Chapter XIII. |
Flight. |
In the passage -- Past the last door -- Somebody coming -- Across the lawn -- A footstep -- The doctor! |
As luck would have it, Harry's bed was near the door. If he could but get out of the dormitory unobserved by the boys, that would be at least one rung mounted on the ladder of escape. He was fully dressed, his boots only being unlaced. So taking them off, he crept towards the door, and waiting cautiously, hidden by the now-welcome darkness, till a fresh noisy onset was made by his assailants on the bed where they supposed him to be, he stealthily lifted the latch and stood on the stairs. He was not long creeping down to the first landing -- a narrow carpeted passage, full of numerous doors, and terminating in a window which looked over a shed where the boots and knives, etc., were cleaned. The stairs which led below, joined those of No. 7 dormitory at one end of the passage, exactly opposite to the window, the distance from the window to the stairs being about ten yards. When Harry left his room he had not the least notion how he was going to accomplish his purpose. He had only a vague idea that he was running away; and it was not till he alighted at the end of the passage mentioned, and saw from the other end the moonlight streaming in through the curtainless window, that it entered his head that there he might find means of escape. |
So he stole cautiously along the passage, nervous, excited, fearing lest he should disturb any of the sleepers in the various rooms he passed. The whole place was so still, he could almost hear his heart thumping. The only thing besides that stirred the silence was the subdued monotonous snoring from the rooms. A waft of fresh summer night-air made his heart leap with delight and eagerness. The window was open. The rest seemed easy. |
The last door was passed, and he stood at the ledge looking out into the moonlight. How quiet everything was! Far off, across the playground, he saw a few lights burning in the different masters' houses; but the Doctor's, in a wing of which he was, was quite dark. Of course, he remembered, the Doctor was out. How fortunate! and the kitchen-windows looked the other way. The roof of the boot-house was about six feet below the window-ledge. At the corner stood a water-butt, and, against that, a large empty box turned up on end. Everything appeared to be put there to further his escape. The boot-house stood in a yard, which opened into Dr Palmer's garden, and from that he knew escape would be easy enough. |
He had just tied his boots together, and by the aid of his pocket-handkerchief dropped them on the roof. His hands were already on the window-ledge, and one leg over, when he heard a footstep on the stairs below. What should he do? To stay as he was, motionless, would be fatal. He was full in the moonlight. To crouch down in the corner, where the moonlight did not shine, might possibly screen him. Not a second was to be lost. His resolution was formed. Over went the other leg; and, hanging with his fingers to the outside of the window-ledge, afraid to drop to the roof lest the noise should be heard, he clung trembling, while he heard the step ascending to the top dormitory. He must be off, -- right away, in a few minutes; for it would not now be long before he was missed. Down he dropped the remaining distance, picked up his boots, scrambled down the water-butt, on to the box, and there he was safe on the ground at last. The gate from the yard into the doctor's garden was always open. He ran noiselessly through, on his bootless feet, into the garden, and across the lawn; and, skirting along where the laurels cast a dark pathway of shadow over the moonlit grass, he made for a corner of the garden-wall, near which the high road ran, and which some few days ago he had noticed was either lower than elsewhere, or somewhat tumbled down. Into the laurels he darted, and soon found the spot he wished; and, then knowing he was quite hidden, and, moreover, in a place where no one would dream of searching for him, he sat down to regain his breath; and, as he put on his boots, listened eagerly to catch the slightest sound that might warn him that his absence was discovered. Nor was it more than two or three minutes before he heard voices in the playground, and the unlocking of various doors, and lights shone suddenly in several windows. |
"There he was, safe on the ground at last." -- WILTON SCHOOL, page 98 |
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 passer-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 passed 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 passed 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. |
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