The puzzled colonel, even more puzzled than were his wife and Lena, since he had not all the clews to guide him which they had received, and, moreover, rather astonished that the former had not come to greet him, according to her usual custom, when he entered the house after an absence of some hours, had his tale to tell and his riddle to solve.

"Where have you been? Why did you not come before? Is Lena worse?" were questions he propounded in a breath, not waiting for an answer to the first till he had asked all three.

No, Lena was not worse, Mrs. Rush said, but she had been startled and worried, and she had stayed with her and tried to divert her until she should be more comfortable. And then she told the story of Miss Trevor's visit, of her encounter with Hannah, and the latter's evident dismay and displeasure at seeing her there; of how the old lady had betrayed that which the old nurse had plainly intended should be kept a profound secret; of how there could be no doubt that Lena had had the key to these revelations, and of how she had been much distressed and agitated by them, but had tried to conceal this and had told her nothing.

The colonel had his say also, and told how he had met Miss Trevor at the door with Maggie and Bessie when they came down to take the carriage; of how she had, in her own queer, incoherent way, told him some story of which he could make nothing clear save that Hannah had, through her, sent a large sum of money to Percy; and how he, coupling one thing with another, had arrived at the conclusion that Percy had fallen into trouble through his own fault, and so had not dared to apply for help to those upon whom he had a legitimate right to call, but had confided in Hannah, and begged and received aid from her. There could be no doubt of this, both the colonel and his wife agreed; nor that the depression and anxiety shown by Lena some time since was to be referred to the same cause, whatever that might be.

But as Percy would be home for the Easter vacation in a couple of days, the colonel said he would not question Lena or disturb her further at present. If Percy were in fault and had been guilty of any wrong-doing, he must be made to confess; if not, it would still be expedient that it should be known why a sum of money, so large for such a boy, should have been conveyed to him by a servant in such a surreptitious manner. If no information on the matter could be obtained from either Lena, Percy or Hannah, he should feel it only right to write to Percy's father and place it in his hands; and in any case Hannah must be repaid. The story of the exchange of the gold for Miss Trevor's bank-notes left little doubt in the mind of either Colonel or Mrs. Rush that the sum consecrated to the monument and epitaph which were to commemorate the virtues of the faithful old woman, had been sacrificed to Percy's needs; and now the colonel remembered how she had asked him the value of British gold in American paper.

So nothing more was said till Percy should come, and Lena, seeing that her uncle and aunt were just as usual, and that they plied her with no questions, took heart of grace, and consoled herself with the reflection that she had alarmed herself unnecessarily, and that they were not going to "make a fuss" over Miss Trevor's revelations.

Meanwhile Percy had kept his promise to his sister, namely, that he would henceforth avoid Lewis Flagg; at least, he had done so as far as he was able, for it is easier to take up with bad company than it is to shake it off; that is, if the desire to do so is not mutual, and the bad company has no mind to be discarded. And this was the case with Lewis. He had reasons of his own for wishing to keep his influence over Percy, and he did not intend that he should escape it if it were possible to maintain it.

So, in spite of Percy's avoidance of him, which became so marked that the other boys noticed it, he persisted in seeking his company at all times and in all places. He was not by any means blind to Percy's endeavors to avoid him, but chose to ignore them and to be constantly hail-fellow-well-met with him as he had been before.

But, fortunately for Percy, Seabrooke had his eye on both. While seeing all the weakness and instability of the younger boy's character, he saw also much that was lovable and good; and moreover, a kindly feeling towards him had been aroused through gratitude to his friends and relations.

He had heard through his sister Gladys and his father, not only of the kindness shown to the little girl, but also of the generous donation made by Colonel Rush to the struggling church of which his father was rector; and he knew through Percy of the efforts of Lena and her young friends to gain the scholarship for Gladys. In spite of his rather stubborn pride which had led him so haughtily to answer Percy that his sister was not an object of charity, he could not but feel grateful to the sweet little strangers who were striving to earn such a benefit for his own sister; and for the sake of Percy's relatives as well as for that of the boy himself, he had resolved to keep an eye upon him during the few remaining days of the term and to endeavor to keep him from going astray again. And Percy, who had been pretty thoroughly frightened, and also truly ashamed of the disgraceful scrape into which he had fallen, was far more amenable than usual to rules and regulations, and was not without gratitude to Seabrooke for having dealt so leniently with him.

But even now, as Harley Seabrooke could plainly see, Percy had no proper sense of the gravity of his late offence; the dread of Dr. Leacraft's displeasure and of the exposure to his relatives being what chiefly concerned him.

Percy had told Seabrooke whence he had received the money with which he had been enabled to repay him, and had been rather troubled by his reluctance to accept it through the means of a girl who was totally innocent of any share of blame. Careless as he was, Percy could not but feel that it cast a reflection upon him. Hence he had been glad when that second remittance arrived in such a mysterious manner to let Harley know of it, and to declare that he should repay his sister at once on his return to his uncle's house at the approaching Easter holidays.

But Seabrooke had little faith in Percy's strength of purpose in case any new temptation presented itself in the meantime; that is, any temptation to spend the money in any other way.

"Don't you think it is what I ought to do?" asked Percy, when he had told Seabrooke of his intentions, and observed, as he could not help doing, that the other seemed a little doubtful.

"Certainly, I think it is what you ought to do; it is the only thing you can do if you have any sense of right and honor," answered Seabrooke, looking at him steadily.

"But you think I won't," said Percy, awakening to a sense that
Seabrooke had no confidence in his good resolutions.

"I think you are open to temptation, Neville, more than any one I know," answered his uncompromising mentor; and Percy could not deny that there was too much truth in the assertion. He took it in good part, however, although he made no answer beyond what was conveyed by a rather sheepish look; and presently Seabrooke said:

"Does any one know that you have received this money, Neville?"

He would not ask the direct question which was in his mind, namely, whether Lewis Flagg knew of it.

"Oh, yes, all the fellows know of it," answered Percy; "they were all there when I opened that odd-looking parcel. I thought it was a hoax—wrapped up in paper after paper that way—and I was not going to open the hair-pin box when it came out at last; but Raymond Stewart cut the string and there was the hundred-dollar note. A nice thing it would have been if I had tossed it in the fire, as I had a mind to do half-a-dozen times while I was unrolling those papers. Oh, yes; they all saw it. Flagg says I am the luckiest fellow he knows."

"Yes," thought Seabrooke, "and he'll persuade you to make way with it before it goes into your sister's hands, if I know him aright. I say, Percy," aloud, "why don't you put that money into Mr. Merton's hands till you are going home?"

"Why?" asked Percy, rather indignantly. "You don't suppose any one is going to steal it, do you?"

"Of course not," answered Seabrooke, who really had no such thought, and only feared that Percy himself might be tempted to do something foolish—in his situation something almost dishonorable Seabrooke thought it would be. It was due to Percy's sister that this sum should be employed to repay her; it would be an absolute wrong to employ it for anything else. "Only," he added, with a little hesitation, "I thought you might find it a sort of a safeguard to have it in the hands of some one else."

"A safeguard against myself, eh?" said Percy, laughing good-naturedly, and not at all offended, as Seabrooke feared he might be. "All right, if you are unhappy about it take care of it yourself."

And drawing his purse from his pocket he opened it, took from it the hundred dollar note, and thrust the latter into Seabrooke's hand.

"I suppose it's wisest," he said; "but I know I shouldn't spend it. However, if it gives you any satisfaction it is as well in your pocket as mine."

"It will not lodge in my pocket," said Seabrooke; "how can you carry such a sum of money in such an insecure place, Neville? Playing rough-and-tumble games, too, when any minute it is likely to fall out of your pocket. I shall lock it up, I can tell you; and what if you tell me not to return it to you till we are breaking up?"

"All right," said Percy again. "I request you not to give it back to me until the day we leave."

"I promise," said Seabrooke. "Remember now; I shall keep my word and take you at yours, and will not return this money to you until Thursday morning of next week."

"No, don't," said Percy, laughing. "I give you full leave to refuse to return it to me till then."

"Self-confident, careless fellow!" said Seabrooke to himself as the other turned away in a series of somersaults down the slope on the edge of which they had been standing. "He is so sure of himself; and yet, I know, at the very first temptation he would forget all about his debt to his sister and make way with that money. But I can't help having a liking for him, and for the sake of that sister who has been so nice to Gladys I shall do what I can to keep him straight."

"I say, Neville," said Raymond Stewart, meeting Percy not half an hour afterward, "aren't you going to stand treat out of that fortune of yours?"

"No," answered Percy, "not this time. I have something else to do with that fortune of mine."

"Turned stingy all of a sudden, eh?" said Raymond, with the disagreeable sneer which was almost habitual with him; and Percy, in spite of his boasting self-confidence, felt glad that his money was in other keeping than his own. He knew perfectly well that he would not have stood proof against the persuasions and sneers, perhaps even threats, which might be brought into use to induce him to part with at least a portion of it. Seabrooke had foreseen just some such state of affairs when he heard that the other boys all knew of Percy's fortune, and hence the precautions he had taken. He would have felt that they were fully justified had he overheard the present conversation.

Further pressure, not only from Raymond Stewart, but from several of the other boys was brought to bear upon Percy: but, as he laughingly declared, he had not the money in his hands, and so could not spend it.

"Where is it, then?" "What have you done with it?" "Have you sent it home?" asked one and another; but Percy still refused to tell.

Only Lewis Flagg did not beset him, did not ask any questions or seem to take any interest in the matter; but that would easily be accounted for by the coolness which had arisen between Percy and himself during the last few days. But this state of affairs had really nothing to do with it, for Lewis did not choose to be snubbed so long as he had any object to gain, and the coolness was all on Percy's side.

But Lewis could give a very good guess as to the whereabouts of Percy's money at present, or at least, as to the person in whose custody it was.

He had been standing at one of the school-room windows while Seabrooke and Percy had been talking at the top of the slope, and had seen the latter take out his pocket-book, take something from it and hand it to Seabrooke, and he rightly conjectured how matters were, that Seabrooke had persuaded Percy to give him the money for safe-keeping.

And then arose a thought which had made itself felt before, that it was hard that Percy had been furnished not only with the means to defray the claim of Seabrooke, and that through no sacrifice or exertion of his own, but also with a like sum which he was at liberty to spend as he pleased, while he himself had been obliged to dispose of his watch in order to obtain the sum which would save him. He felt quite wronged, and as if some injustice had been done to him, forgetting or losing sight of all the meanness, underhand dealing and disobedience of rules which had brought him to his present predicament. And the doctor would be here tomorrow,—for his son was out of danger and he was coming back to close the school,—would hear the account of his misconduct and would report at home, if nothing worse. A feeling of intense irritation against both Seabrooke and Percy Neville took possession of him, a feeling as unreasonable as it was spiteful; and he said to himself that he would find means to be revenged on both, especially on Seabrooke, whom he chose to look upon as the offender instead of the offended, the injurer instead of the injured.

Then another idea took possession of him, and one worthy of his own mean spirit, namely, that Seabrooke had been demanding and Percy giving a further prize for the silence of the former in the matter of the burnt money; and he immediately formed in his own mind a plan by which he might be revenged upon Seabrooke. He called it to himself, "playing a jolly good trick;" but Lewis Flagg's "jolly good tricks" were apt to prove more jolly to himself than to his victims, and they did occasionally, as we have seen, recoil upon his own head.

"I say, Percy," said Raymond Stewart, "you hav'n't made over that hundred dollars to Flagg, have you? We know that he can get out of you anything that he chooses. Has he, Flagg? Own up now if he has. I shouldn't wonder."

"No, I hav'n't," said Percy, exasperated by the assertion that Flagg could do as he pleased with him. "No, I haven't given it to him, and he can't make me do as he pleases. No one can."

At this assumption of his own independence from the facile, easily-led Percy a shout of derision was raised; and then began a running fire of schoolboy jeers and jests. The good humor with which Percy generally took such attacks was apt to disarm his tormentors; but now, probably because he was conscious that their taunts were so well-deserved, he resented them and showed some irritability in the matter. Had he not felt assured that Seabrooke would abide by his word and insist upon keeping possession of the money until the day of the breaking up of school, there is little doubt that he would have allowed himself to be urged into demanding it back and spending at least some portion of it for the entertainment of his school-fellows.

"See here," said one of the boys, apropos of nothing it seemed, "see here, do you know Seabrooke is going to dine with the dons up at Mr. Fanshawe's to-night?"

"Then who's going to be sentinel at evening study?" asked Raymond
Stewart.

"Mr. Merton," answered the other.

"Isn't he invited?" asked Raymond.

"Yes, but he wants Seabrooke to go because he says he has but little pleasure; so he told him he would decline and take the evening study, so that he might go to the dinner. Here he comes now. Hallo! Seabrooke, what a big-bug you're getting to be! Going out to dine with the dons and so forth."

Seabrooke passed on with a cold, indifferent smile just moving the corners of his mouth. He had little of the spirit of good comradeship and was not accustomed to meet any joke or nonsense from his companions in a responsive manner; so it was little wonder that he was not very popular with the other boys.

But as he passed Percy, who stood leaning with his back against a tree, rather discontentedly kicking the toe of his shoe into the ground, he saw that the boy was vexed about something, and paused to speak to him.

"Hallo, Neville," he said; "what is the matter? You look as if the world were not wagging your way just now."

"Nothing," answered Percy, half-sulkily, "only I wish I hadn't given you that money. The fellows think I'm awfully mean."

"So soon!" said Seabrooke to himself; then replied aloud, "Why, because you wish to pay a just debt?"

"No, they don't know about that," said Percy, "only they think I ought to stand treat."

"I shall keep my word to you," said Seabrooke, significantly, and walked on.

"You wouldn't like it yourself," answered Percy; but Seabrooke only shrugged his shoulders and gave no symptom of yielding to his unspoken desire.

"Weak, unstable fellow!" he said to himself. "He would have asked me for that money if he had thought there was the slightest chance I would give it to him, and would have spent a part of it rather than have those fellows chaff and run him. After his sister's sacrifice, too. Pah!"

He had never been a boy who was subject to temptations of this nature, or who cared one iota for the opinion of others, especially if he believed himself to be in the right; and he had no patience with or pity for weakness of character or purpose. To him there was something utterly contemptible in Percy's indulging in the least thought of withdrawing from his resolution of using the sum he had confided to his keeping to repay his debt to his sister, and he wasted no sympathy upon him or his fancied difficulties.

Seabrooke went to dine with "the dons," caring not so much for the social pleasure as for the honor conferred upon him by the invitation; Mr. Merton taking, as had been arranged, his place in the schoolroom during evening study.

The tutor cast his eye around the line of heads and missed one.

"Where is Lewis Flagg?" he asked.

"I don't know, sir," answered one of the boys. "I saw him about ten minutes ago."

Scarcely had he spoken when the delinquent entered the room and hastened to his seat.

"Late, Lewis," said Mr. Merton, placing a tardy mark against his name.

"I did not hear the bell, sir," answered Lewis, telling his falsehood with coolness, although his manner was somewhat flurried and nervous.

Percy was running across the play-ground the next morning when he came full against Seabrooke, who was just rounding the corner of an evergreen hedge. He would have been thrown off his balance by the shock had not Seabrooke caught him; but the next instant he shook him off, while he regarded him with a look of the most scornful contempt.

"Hallo!" said Percy, not observing this at first, "that was a concussion between opposing forces. I beg your pardon. I should have been down, too, but for you"

"You're pretty well down, I should say," replied Seabrooke, sneeringly. "You're a nice fellow to call yourself a gentleman, are'n't you?"

Percy opened his eyes in unfeigned astonishment. The grave, studious, young pupil-teacher was no favorite with the other boys, who thought him priggish and rather arbitrary; but at least he was always courteous in his dealings with them, and, indeed, rather prided himself upon his manners.

"Well, that's one way to take it," said the younger boy, resentfully, his regrets taking flight at once as they met with this apparently ungracious reception. "Accidents will happen, and, after all, it was just as much your fault as mine."

"I would not try to appear innocent. It will hardly serve your turn under the circumstances," said Seabrooke, still with the same disagreeable tone and manner. "But let me tell you, Mr. Neville, that I have a great mind to report you for trespassing in my quarters. You may think you have the right to demand your own if you choose to break a compact made for your own good, but you have no right to be guilty of the liberty and meanness of ransacking another man's belongings in search of it."

"I don't know what you are talking about. What do you mean?" exclaimed the astonished Percy, really for the moment forgetting that Seabrooke had anything belonging to him in his keeping.

But Seabrooke only answered, as he turned away, "Such an assumption of innocence is quite thrown away, I repeat, sir and the next time you meddle with my things or places, you shall suffer for it, I assure you."

But Percy seized him by the arm.

"You shall not leave me this way," he said. "What do you mean?
Explain yourself. Who touched your things?"

"It shows what you are," answered Seabrooke, continuing his reproaches, instead of giving the straightforward answer which he considered unnecessary, "that you have not the decent manliness to demand that which rightfully belonged to you because you were ashamed of your own folly and weakness, but must go and ransack in my quarters to find your money. Let me go; I wish nothing more to do with you."

Light broke upon the bewildered Percy. Seabrooke was accusing him of searching for and taking the money he had confided to his care, but which he, Percy, certainly had no right to recover by such means.

"You say I took back my money without asking you for it, and hunted it out from your places?" he asked, incredulously, but fiercely.

"I do," answered Seabrooke, "and I've nothing more to say to you now or hereafter."

Percy contradicted him flatly, and in language which left no doubt as to his opinion of his veracity, and very hard words were interchanged. Both lost their temper, and Seabrooke his dignity—poor Percy had not much of the latter quality to lose—and the quarrel presently attracted the attention, not only of the other boys, but of one or two of the masters who happened to be within hearing.

Naturally this called forth inquiry, and it soon became known that Percy had entrusted to Seabrooke's keeping a large sum of money, lest he should himself be tempted to spend any portion of it, as it was to be reserved for a special purpose; that Seabrooke before going to the dinner on the previous evening had put it, as he supposed, in a secure place, and that this morning the money was gone, while he had discovered slight but unmistakable evidence that his quarters had been ransacked in search of it. He had, perhaps, not unnaturally, at once arrived at the conclusion that Percy himself had searched for and taken it, being determined to have it, and yet ashamed to demand its return. It was a grave accusation, and one which Percy denied in the most emphatic and indignant manner which convinced nearly every one who heard him of his innocence.

Seabrooke was not among these. He maintained that no one but Percy knew that he had taken the money in charge; no one but Percy had any object in finding it, and he appeared and professed himself perfectly outraged that any one "should have dared" to open his trunk, bureau and so forth. There could be no question of actual theft, since the money was Percy's own, to dispose of as he pleased, but the liberty was a great one, and it was a very mean way of regaining possession even of his own property, had he been guilty of it.

But Percy was popular, Seabrooke was not; and even the masters were inclined to believe that the latter must have been careless and forgetful and mislaid the money, while believing he had put it in the place he indicated, and presently—no one knew exactly how it started or could trace the rumor to its source—presently it began to be bruited about among the boys that Seabrooke was keeping it for his own use and had never intended to return it to Percy, and was now making him his scape-goat.

But Percy, even in the midst of his own wrath and indignation, generously combated this; he inclined to the first supposition that Seabrooke had mislaid or lost the note, and he even maintained that it would shortly be found.

But this did not make Seabrooke any more lenient in his judgment. He said little, but that little expressed the most dogged and obstinate belief in Percy's weakness of purpose, and in his search for and abstraction of his own property.

The situation was one hard to deal with, and Mr. Merton and the other tutors resolved to let the matter rest until the return of Dr. Leacraft, who was expected that very evening.

School closed the next day, and the various actors in this little drama were to scatter to their respective homes for the Easter holidays.

"What a miserable report we have to make to the doctor on his return!" said Mr. Merton. "When he has been through so much, too, and is just feeling a little relief from his anxiety. He will find that his boys—the majority at least—have not had much consideration for him in his trouble."

What would he have said had he known how much worse the record might have been—had all been revealed, had Seabrooke disclosed the drugging, the theft of his letter to his father, and the destruction, unintentional though it was, of the money?

Seabrooke went about the business of the day with all his accustomed regularity and precision, but with a sort of defiant and I-am-going-to-stick-to-it air about him which in itself incited the other boys to covert thrusts and innuendoes tending to throw distrust upon his version of the story and to make known their thorough sympathy with Percy, not only for his loss, but also for the aspersions cast upon him by the young pupil-teacher. Seabrooke professed, and perhaps with truth, not to care particularly for popularity or for what others said about him; but he found this hard to bear, more especially as he fully believed Percy to be guilty of the meanness he had ascribed to him.

But for some unknown reason Lewis Flagg, who was usually the ringleader in all such little amenities, held his peace and had nothing to say.