"You are Abel Hopper!" "Just so. But I didn't expect to see you in these parts." It was indeed Hopper, the ex-clerk at Liverpool. The coincidence was curious; had we time to follow it out—that the real Hopper should make his appearance just as the fears of Mr. Trace should have been set at rest as to the false one. "You see the life that is mine; the disgrace that clings to me," panted George, in his impulsive emotion. "If you have a spark of manly feeling, you will speak out and clear my father's memory, even though at the cost of criminating yourself." Hopper stared at George with a questioning gaze. "I don't know what you mean," he said. "You must talk plainer, young sir." "Yes, you do know. You know—don't you—that my father was innocent?" "I do know it. He was innocent." "And that you were guilty." "No; that I swear I was not." The accent wore a sound of truth, and George paused. "Then who was guilty?" Hopper laughed as he crossed the road to the plantation. "We may come at that, perhaps, Master George, by-and-by. All in good time." "But it is not all in good time," cried George, pursuing him. "Oh, come with me to my mother! She has believed him guilty; and it has embittered her heart, and changed her nature, and made a misery of our daily life. Only come and show her that he was innocent!" But Hopper only went on all the quicker, and the sound of George's voice died away in the distance. Mr. Henry had seen and heard nothing of this. Some of the boys were coming out again with bats in their hands. Trace was one: but he carried a book, not a bat. They wondered what the German was sitting there for. Trace went up to him, and spoke. "The part you acted just now was uncalled for, though I did not stop it before the school. Interference on Paradyne's behalf from you is particularly out of place." "I think not, Trace." "You think not! When you know who you are! A man who is here under a false name; whose life is a lie; is not one to——" Trace stopped. The boys had been nearer than he thought, and were listening with eager ears. Mr. Henry got up and walked away. "Trace, what did you mean?" came the eager questioning voices. "Who _is_ he?" And Trace told them. Betrayed out of his usual civil prudence, or perhaps tired of concealment, at last he disclosed the secret he had so recently learnt. It was another Paradyne. Another Paradyne! Another of the bad brood! Trace, giving his nose a contemptuous twist, pointed a finger of scorn after the receding master: and the boys stared in stupid wonder. Another Paradyne! CHAPTER XXII. Before the Examiners.