Arthur and Dig, after twelve hours in bed, had become weary unto death; and when, presently, from the room below arose the voices and laughter of the Comedians, they kicked the clothes off them, and mutually agreed--colds or no colds--they could stand, or rather lie, it no longer.

"Wouldn't they grin if we turned up?" said Arthur; "I vote we do."

"All serene," said Dig; "we may as well get up."

Dig meant the term "get up" in the professional sense. He accordingly arrayed himself, to the best of his lights, in the garb of a low comedian; that is, he put on a red dressing-gown, flannel drawers, and a very tall collar, made out of cardboard; and blacked a very fine moustache on his lip with a piece of coal. Arthur, meanwhile, had a more delicate task to perform in extemporising the toilet of a maid-of- all-work. An ulster belonging to Tilbury supplied him with a dress, and by turning up the sleeves, and arranging his night-dress ap.r.o.n-wise over the front, he managed to give a fair idea of the kind of character he aimed to personate. He then ruffled up his hair, and brought as much of it as he was able down in the front for a fringe, surmounting it all with a handkerchief shaped to represent a cap. Finally, he smudged his face over with coal dust, and secured one of Mrs Hastings's mops and a pail from the cupboard at the end of the corridor, and p.r.o.nounced himself ready for the fray.

It need hardly be said that the apparition of these two extraordinary figures created a sensation among the jaded Comedians and their friends.

The sudden restoration to health of the two invalids was less astonishing, perhaps, than their strange get-up, or the spirit with which they proceeded to throw themselves into their respective parts.

Wake, with a smile of relief, shut up his book and retired among the audience.

Dig knew his part well, and acted it with such a depth of low comedy that it mattered little what mistakes or blunders the funny irascible and the funny meek gentlemen and ladies made. He uttered the greatest commonplaces a leer and a wink, which imported a vast deal of meaning into the words, and had evidently so well studied his part that he could not even sit down on the chair or walk out of the room without tumbling on all fours or upsetting one or two of the other actors.

Wake suggested mildly that he was overdoing it, but was voted down by an indignant chorus of admirers, who urged the low comedian on to still further extravagance, until, had his part been that of a clown, he could scarcely have thrown more dramatic intensity into it.

He was ably and gallantly backed up by the maid-of-all-work, who was evidently convinced that the main duty and occupation of such functionaries is to upset everything; to clatter up and down the rooms in hob-nail boots; to flourish her mop in her master's and mistress's faces, and otherwise a.s.sert her n.o.ble independence of the ordinary laws governing domestic servants. In these ambitions she succeeded to a moral; and when, in addition, thanks to the cold in her head, she p.r.o.nounced all her m's b's and her n's d's, the result was exhilarating in the extreme.

"There's dot bady bed dicer-looking that Bister Tobby and Biss Oblett,"

said she, flourishing her mop in Miss Omlett's face.

Whereat, although the remark was a serious one, and not meant to be facetious, the audience was convulsed.

The second scene was in full swing: Miss Omlett and the funny, meek old gentleman were taking refuge behind two sofas from the threatened violence of Mr b.u.mblebee and Miss Acidrop; the low comedian was having a kick-up all round, and the maid-of-all-work was putting her pail on the head of one of the walking gentlemen with the comment--

"Dow, thed, there's goidg to be a dice doise--"

When the door of the room once more opened, and Railsford entered un.o.bserved in the darkness. He had not come to see the performance, although he knew it was about to be held, and had indeed allowed the use of the cla.s.s-room for the purpose.

But feeling very dejected in the presence of the cloud which had suddenly fallen on him, he had been unable to work that evening, and had decided to pay a visit of condolence to his young kinsman and the baronet, partly in the hope of edifying them by a little quiet talk by the sick bedside, and partly to satisfy himself that no very alarming symptoms had resulted from last night's severe exposure.

Picture his astonishment when he found the two beds in the dormitory empty, and the invalids flown!

He made inquiries of the dame. She had taken them up two eggs a-piece and some tea and hot b.u.t.tered toast at six o'clock, which they had partaken of, and then, informing her that they felt no better, they had disposed themselves, as she supposed, to sleep.

He looked into their study. They were not there; nor had anyone heard of them in the preparation room. Finally, he peeped into the Fourth cla.s.s-room, and beheld the two invalids masquerading on the stage, and recognised the voice and sentiments of his kinsman, albeit proceeding through the nose, as he flourished his (or rather her) mop in the air, and announced that there was going to be a "dice doise."

The whole scene was so ridiculous that Railsford deemed it prudent not to discover himself, and withdrew as un.o.bserved as he had entered.

At least he had the satisfaction of knowing that Arthur and Dig were all right after their adventure; and that, thought he, is the main thing.

Poor Railsford had plenty else to occupy his thoughts that evening. The interview with the doctor in the morning had seemed to bring him up short in his career at Grandcourt.

If his enemies had tried to corner him, they could not have done it better. It was true that he knew the culprits, and by not denouncing them was, to that extent, shielding them.

But he had come to that knowledge, as the reader knows, by an accident, of which, as an honourable man, he felt he had no right to take advantage, even to set right so grievous a wrong as the Bickers mystery.

He might explain, without mentioning names, how he had learned the facts; but that would be as good as naming the culprit, for Brans...o...b.. had been the only case of serious illness accompanied by delirium at Grandcourt during the last two terms.

He might write to Brans...o...b.., and tell him his dilemma, and beseech him to make a confession. And yet what right had he to take advantage of the boy's unconscious confession to put pressure on him to make it public?

Other persons less fastidious might do it, but Railsford could not.

The alternative, of course, was that he would in all probability have to leave Grandcourt. If the matter had rested only between him and the doctor, he might have made a private communication under pledge of secrecy, and so induced his princ.i.p.al to let the matter drop. But the matter did not rest solely between him and the doctor. Mr Bickers and Felgate, by some means which he was unable to fathom, appeared to have learned the secret, and were not likely to let it drop. Indeed, it was evident that, so far from that, they would like if possible to fix a charge of actual complicity in the outrage on himself.

Railsford laughed contemptuously at the notion, as the wild malice of a revengeful enemy. But he knew that no explanation would be likely to put them off the pursuit short of the actual naming of the culprits, which he was resolved at all risks to refuse.

Was this to be the end of his brilliant school career? After two terms of hard work and honest battle, was he to be turned away, cashiered and mined, just because he had stayed to nurse a sick boy and overheard his delirious confession?

It was no small temptation as he sat in his room that night, to compromise with honour. He could so easily save himself. He could, by a word, sweep away the cloud which hung over his future, and not his future only, but Daisy's. The outrage had been a cowardly one. Two of its perpetrators at least were worthless boys, and the other was away from Grandcourt, and might possibly never come back. Was it worth risking so much for so small a scruple? Did not his duty to Grandcourt demand sacrifices of him, and could he not that very night remove a dark blot from its scutcheon!

So the battle went on, and Railsford fought it out, inch by inch, like a man. He was not single-handed in such matters: he had a Friend who always wins, and He helped Railsford to win that night.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A BROWN-PAPER PARCEL.

Railsford was somewhat surprised at call-over on the following morning to observe that neither Arthur Herapath nor Digby Oakshott answered to their names.

"Why are they not here?" he asked.

"They're still on the sick list," said Ainger.

"Has anyone seen them?"

"Yes, sir," said Tilbury; "they were coughing a good deal in the night, and said they felt too bad to get up this morning, and had the medical doctor's leave to stay in bed till he came round."

"Oh," said Railsford, and walked up-stairs to interview these two unfortunate invalids.

"Well," said he, entering the room just in time to interrupt what he imagined, from the sounds heard outside, must have been a spirited bolster match, "how are you both this morning?"

They both began to cough, wearily, "A little better, I think," said Arthur, with fort.i.tude; "I think we might try to get up later on. But the medical said we'd better wait till he saw us."

And he relapsed into a painful fit of coughing.

"I feel very hot all over," said the baronet, who was notoriously energetic at bolster matches.

"Now, you two," said Railsford sternly, "just get up at once. I shall remain in the room while you dress."

They looked at him in reproachful horror, and broke into the most heart- rending paroxysm of coughing he had ever listened to.

"Stop that noise," said he, "and get up at once."

"Oh, please, Marky--Mr Railsford--we're so bad and--and Daisy would be so sorry if I got consumption, or anything of that sort."

"We shall get into trouble, sir," added the baronet, "for getting up without the medical's leave. He told us to stay in bed, and--"