“Very likely. But what a nice pair of consciences they must have had ever since! I suppose the doctor will announce that they’ve been expelled?”

“I don’t know. But I hope he won’t be too hard on Gilks if he does. I never saw a fellow so broken-down and sorry. He quite broke down just now at the station as he was starting.”

“Poor fellow!” said Bloomfield. “The fellows won’t take the trouble to abuse him much now he’s gone.”

At this point two Parrett’s juniors came past. They were Lawkins and Pringle, two of the noisiest and most impudent of their respectable fraternity.

Among their innocent amusements, that of hooting the captain had long been a favourite, and at the sight of him now, as they concluded, in altercation with their own hero, they thought they detected a magnificent opening for a little demonstration.

“Hullo! Booh! Fiddle de Riddell!” cried Pringle, jocosely, from a safe distance.

“Who cut the rudder-lines? Cheat! Kick him out!” echoed Lawkins.

The captain, who was accustomed to elegant compliments of this kind from the infant lips of Willoughby, took about as much notice of them now as he usually did. In other words, he took no notice at all.

But Bloomfield turned wrathfully, and shouted to the two boys, “Come here, you two!”

“Oh, yes; we’ll come to you!” cried Lawkins.

“You’re our captain; we’ll obey you!” said Pringle, with a withering look at Riddell.

“What’s that you said just now?” demanded Bloomfield.

“I only said, ‘Kick him out!’” said Lawkins, somewhat doubtfully, as he noticed the black looks on the Parrett’s captain’s face.

Bloomfield made a grab at the two luckless youths, and shook them very much as a big dog shakes her refractory puppies.

“And what do you mean by it, you young cubs!” demanded he, in a rage.

“Why, we weren’t speaking to you,” whined the juniors.

“No, you weren’t; but I’m speaking to you! Take that, for being howling young cads, both of you!” and he knocked their two ill-starred heads together with a vigour which made the epithet “howling” painfully accurate. “Now beg Riddell’s pardon at once!” said he.

They obeyed with most abject eagerness.

“Mind I don’t catch you calling my friends names like that any more,” said Bloomfield. “Riddell’s captain here, and if you don’t look out for yourselves you’ll find yourselves in the wrong box, I can tell you! And you can tell the rest of your pack, unless they want a hiding from me, they’d better not cheek the captain!”

So saying, he allowed the two terrified youngsters to depart; which they did, shaking in their shoes and marvelling inwardly what wonder was to happen next.

The morning passed, and before it was over, while all the school was busy in class, Silk left Willoughby. His father had arrived by an early train, and after a long interview with the doctor had returned taking his boy with him. No one saw him before he went, and for none of those whom he had wronged and misled did he leave behind any message of regret or contrition. He simply dropped out of Willoughby life, lamented by none, and missed only by a few who had suffered under his influence and were now far better without him.

After morning classes the doctor summoned the school to the great hall, and there briefly announced the changes that had taken place.

“Two boys,” said he, “are absent to-day — absent because they have left Willoughby for good. Now that they are gone, I need not dwell on the harm they have done, except to warn any boys present, who may be tempted to follow in their steps, of the disgrace and shame which always follow vice and dishonesty.”

There was a great stir and looking round as the doctor reached this point. He had not yet announced the names, though most present were able to guess them.

“It’s not you two, then?” whispered Telson across the bench to where Cusack and Pilbury sat in mutual perplexity.

“Two things at least are comforting in what has passed,” continued the doctor. “One is that by the confession of these two boys a very unpleasant mystery, which affected the honour of the whole school, has been cleared up; I mean, of course, the accident at the boat-race early in the term.”

It was then, that! Willoughby bristled up with startled eagerness to hear the rest, and even Telson found no joke ready to hand.

“The other consolation is that one of the boys, Gilks—”

There was a sudden half-suppressed exclamation as the name was announced, which disconcerted the doctor for a moment.

“Gilks,” pursued he, “expressed deep contrition for what he had done, and wished, when leaving, that the school should know of his shame and sorrow. He left here a softened and, I hope, a changed boy; and I feel sure this appeal to the generosity of his old schoolfellows will secure for him what he most desires — your forgiveness.”

There was a silence, and every face was grave, as the doctor concluded, “I wish I could say as much of his companion, and I fear, leader in wrong — Silk.”

There was another start, but less of surprise than assent this time. For when Gilks had been named as one culprit every one knew the name of the other.

“I have no message for you from him,” said the doctor, with a voice in which a faint tremble was discernible; “but on his behalf we may at least hope that in new scenes, and under more favourable conditions, he may be able to recover the character he lost here. An event like this carries its own lesson. Do not be too ready to blame them, but let their example be humbly taken by each one of you as a warning against the first approach of temptation, from which none of us is free, and which by God’s help only can any of us hope ever to resist or overcome.”

The doctor’s words did not fail to make a deep impression on those present. There were not a few whose consciences told them that after all the difference between them and the expelled boys was not very great, and it had needed a warning like this to arouse them.

The rest of the day a subdued atmosphere hung over Willoughby. A good many boys thought more than was their wont, and even the noisiest shrunk from indulging their high spirits to their customary extent.

But the chief feeling that day was one of relief. Not that two bad boys had been expelled, but because the hateful boat-race mystery had been finally cleared up, and with it the reproach on the honour of Willoughby had been removed. As long as it had hung like a black cloud over the term, boys had lacked spirit and encouragement to rally for the good of the school. House had been divided against house, set against set, captain against captain, and the order and discipline of the school had gone down to a miserable pitch.

Against all these opposing influences the new captain, as we have seen, had struggled gallantly, and not wholly without success; but even his influence could not disperse all the suspicions, and heartburnings, and jealousies that centred round that unlucky race. Now, however, the clearing up of that mystery, and, still more, the new alliance, rumours of which were spreading fast, between the two captains, opened new hopes for the old school.

There were not a few who at first treated the rumours of the new alliance with sceptical derision, but they had soon cause to discover that it was more than a joke.

Stutter and Wibberly, two of the sceptics, happened to be caught that very afternoon by Bloomfield in the act of “skulking” dinner — that is, of answering to their names at the call-over, and then slipping off unobserved to enjoy a rather more elaborate clandestine meal in their own study. It was not a very uncommon offence, or perhaps a very terrible one, but it was an offence which monitors were bound to report.

“Where are you off to?” demanded Bloomfield, encountering these two deserters.