The brake had set out before the carriage, so that Meta had to come in and wait for her governess. Before the vehicle had disgorged half its contents, Harry had rushed out to meet them. 'Come in, come in, Norman! Only hear. Margaret shall tell you herself! Hurrah!'
Is Mr. Ernescliffe come? crossed Ethel's mind, but Margaret was alone, flushed, and holding out her hands. 'Norman! where is he? Dear Norman, here is good news! Papa, Dr. Hoxton has been here, and he knows all about it--and oh! Norman, he is very sorry for the injustice, and you are dux again!'
Norman really trembled so much that he could neither speak nor stand, but sat down on the window-seat, while a confusion of tongues asked more.
Dr. Hoxton and Mr. Larkins had come to call--heard no one was at home but Miss May--had, nevertheless, come in--and Margaret had heard that Mr. Larkins, who had before intended to remove his son from Stoneborough, had, in the course of the holidays, made discoveries from him, which he could not feel justified in concealing from Dr. Hoxton.
The whole of the transactions with Ballhatchet, and Norman's part in them, had been explained, as well as the true history of the affray in Randall's Alley--how Norman had dispersed the boys, how they had again collected, and, with the full concurrence of Harvey Anderson, renewed the mischief, how the Andersons had refused to bear witness in his favour, and how Ballhatchet's ill-will had kept back the evidence which would have cleared him.
Little Larkins had told all, and his father had no scruple in repeating it, and causing the investigation to be set on foot. Nay, he deemed that Norman's influence had saved his son, and came, as anxious to thank him, as Dr. Hoxton, warm-hearted, though injudicious, was to repair his injustice. They were much surprised and struck by finding that Dr. May had been aware of the truth the whole time, and had patiently put up with the injustice, and the loss of the scholarship--a loss which Dr. Hoxton would have given anything to repair, so as to have sent up a scholar likely to do him so much credit; but it was now too late, and he had only been able to tell Margaret how dismayed he was at finding out that the boy to whom all the good order in his school was owing had been so ill- used. Kind Dr. May's first feeling really seemed to be pity and sympathy for his old friend, the head-master, in the shock of such a discovery. Harry was vociferously telling his version of the story to Ethel and Mary. Tom stood transfixed in attention. Meta, forgotten and bewildered, was standing near Norman, whose colour rapidly varied, and whose breath came short and quick as he listened. A quick half interrogation passed Meta's lips, heard by no one else.
'It is only that it is all right,' he answered, scarcely audibly; 'they have found out the truth.'
'What?--who?--you?' said Meta, as she heard words that implied the past suspicion.
'Yes,' said Norman, 'I was suspected, but never at home.'
'And is it over now?'
'Yes, yes,' he whispered huskily, 'all is right, and Harry will not leave me in disgrace.'
Meta did not speak, but she held out her hand in hearty congratulation; Norman, scarce knowing what he did, grasped and wrung it so tight that it was positive pain, as he turned away his head to the window to struggle with those irrepressible tears. Meta's colour flushed into her cheek as she found it still held, almost unconsciously, perhaps, in his agitation, and she heard Margaret's words, that both gentlemen had said Norman had acted nobly, and that every revelation made in the course of their examination had only more fully established his admirable conduct.
'Oh, Norman, Norman, I am so glad!' cried Mary's voice in the first pause, and, Margaret asking where he was, he suddenly turned round, recollected himself, and found it was not the back of the chair that he had been squeezing, blushed intensely, but made no attempt at apology, for indeed he could not speak--he only leaned down over Margaret, to receive her heartfelt embrace; and, as he stood up again, his father laid his hand on his shoulder, 'My boy, I am glad;' but the words were broken, and, as if neither could bear more, Norman hastily left the room, Ethel rushing after him.
'Quite overcome!' said the doctor, 'and no wonder. He felt it cruelly, though he bore up gallantly. Well, July?'
'I'll go down to school with him to-morrow, and see him dux again! I'll have three-times-three!' shouted Harry; 'hip! hip! hurrah!' and Tom and Mary joined in chorus.
'What is all this?' exclaimed Flora, opening the door--is every one gone mad?'
Many were the voices that answered.
'Well, I am glad, and I hope the Andersons will make an apology. But where is poor Meta? Quite forgotten?'
'Meta would not wonder if she knew all,' said the doctor, turning, with a sweet smile that had in it something, nevertheless, of apology.
'Oh, I am so glad--so glad!' said Meta, her eyes full of tears, as she came forward.
And there was no helping it; the first kiss between Margaret May and Margaret Rivers was given in that overflowing sympathy of congratulation.
The doctor gave her his arm to take her to the carriage, and, on the way, his quick warm words filled up the sketch of Norman's behaviour; Meta's eyes responded better than her tongue, but, to her good-bye, she could not help adding, 'Now I have seen true glory.'
His answer was much such a grip as her poor little fingers had already received, but though they felt hot and crushed all the way home, the sensation seemed to cause such throbs of joy, that she would not have been without it.
CHAPTER XXVII.
And full of hope, day followed day, While that stout ship at anchor lay Beside the shores of Wight. The May had then made all things green, And floating there, in pomp serene, That ship was goodly to be seen, His pride and his delight. Yet then when called ashore, he sought The tender peace of rural thought, In more than happy mood. To your abodes, bright daisy flowers, He then would steal at leisure hours, And loved you, glittering in your bowers, A starry multitude. WORDSWORTH.
Harry's last home morning was brightened by going to the school to see full justice done to Norman, and enjoying the scene for him. It was indeed a painful ordeal to Norman himself, who could, at the moment, scarcely feel pleasure in his restoration, excepting for the sake of his father, Harry, and his sisters. To find the head-master making apologies to him was positively painful and embarrassing, and his countenance would have been fitter for a culprit receiving a lecture. It was pleasanter when the two other masters shook hands with him, Mr. Harrison with a free confession that he had done him injustice, and Mr. Wilmot with a glad look of congratulation, that convinced Harry he had never believed Norman to blame.
Harry himself was somewhat of a hero; the masters all spoke to him, bade him good speed, and wished him a happy voyage, and all the boys were eager to admire his uniform, and wish themselves already men and officers like Mr. May. He had his long-desired three cheers for 'May senior!' shouted with a thorough goodwill by the united lungs of the Whichcote foundation, and a supplementary cheer arose for the good ship Alcestis, while hands were held out on every side; and the boy arrived at such a pitch of benevolence and good humour, as actually to volunteer a friendly shake of the hand to Edward Anderson, whom he encountered skulking apart.
'Never mind, Ned, we have often licked each other before now, and don't let us bear a grudge now I am going away. We are Stoneborough fellows both, you know, after all.'
Edward did not refuse the offered grasp, and though his words were only, 'Good-bye, I hope you will have plenty of fun!' Harry went away with a lighter heart.
The rest of the day Harry adhered closely to his father, though chiefly in silence; Dr. May had intended much advice and exhortation for his warm-hearted, wild-spirited son, but words would not come, not even when in the still evening twilight they walked down alone together to the cloister, and stood over the little stone marked M. M. After standing there for some minutes, Harry knelt to collect some of the daisies in the grass.
'Are those to take with you?'
'Margaret is going to make a cross of them for my Prayerbook.'
'Ay, they will keep it in your mind--say it all to you, Harry. She may be nearer to you everywhere, though you are far from us. Don't put yourself from her.'
That was all Dr. May contrived to say to his son, nor could Margaret do much more than kiss him, while tears flowed one by one over her cheeks, as she tried to whisper that he must remember and guard himself, and that he
