Arkell stopped and stood before Mr. Wilberforce, his truthful eye and open countenance raised fearlessly. "I gave you credit for behaving honourably, and as a gentleman ought, during the time you were residing in my house, but I find I was deceived. Who gave you leave, pray, to sneak out of it at early morning, when everybody else was in bed?" "I never did, sir," replied Henry. "Take care, Arkell. If there's one fault I punish more than another, it is a falsehood; and that you know. I say that you did sneak out of my house at untoward and improper hours." "Indeed, sir, I never did," he replied with respectful earnestness. The master raised his forefinger, and shook it at his pupil. "You were down at Hunt's one morning last November, by half-past six, perhaps earlier; you must have gone down by moonlight----Ah, I see," added the master, in an altered tone, for a change flashed over Henry Arkell's features, "conscience is accusing you of the falsehood." "No, sir, I told no falsehood. I don't deny that I was at Hunt's one morning." "Then how can you deny that you stole out of my house to get there? Perhaps you will explain, sir." What was Henry Arkell to do? Explain, in the full sense of the word, he could not; but explain, in a degree, he must, for Mr. Wilberforce was not one to be trifled with. He was a perfectly ingenuous boy, both in manner and character, and Mr. Wilberforce had hitherto known him for a truthful one: indeed, he put more faith in Arkell than in all the rest of the thirty-nine king's scholars. "Perhaps you will dare to tell me that you stopped out all night, instead of sneaking out in the morning?" pursued the master. "Yes, sir, I did; but it was not my fault: I was kept out." "Where were you, and who kept you out?" "Oh, sir, if you would be so kind as not to press me--for indeed I cannot tell. I was kept out, and I could not help myself." "I never heard so impudent an avowal from any boy in my life," proceeded Mr. Wilberforce, when he recovered his astonishment. "What was the nature of the mischief you were in? Come; I will know it." "I was not in any mischief, sir. If I might tell the truth, you would say that I was not.'" "This is most extraordinary behaviour," returned the master. "What reason have you for not telling the truth?" "Because--because--well, sir, the reason is, that I could not speak without getting others into trouble. Indeed, sir," he earnestly added, "though I did stop out from your house all night, I did no wrong; I was in no mischief, and it was no fault of mine." Strange perhaps to say, the master believed him: from his long experience of the boy, he could believe nothing but good of Harry Arkell, and if ever words bore the stamp of truth, his did now. "I am in a hurry at present," said the master, "but don't flatter yourself this matter will rest."