"Stay," said the master, interrupting Trace's words. "You heard me say a moment ago that it must be a question for Dr. Brabazon whether or not Paradyne remains here. But I think that Dr. Brabazon would, in either event, counsel you not to denounce the boy publicly." "I am not given to denounce my companions publicly; or privately either: as you perhaps will find when you are used to us," was Trace's rejoinder, delivered with civility. "If the doctor condones the past, why, let it be condoned; I can't say more. But the sooner the question is decided, the better." "Undoubtedly." Mr. Henry turned round with the last word, and applied himself to his drawing. Loftus and Irby strolled away, and Trace besought an interview with Dr. Brabazon. It was at once accorded; and he told him who Paradyne was. To do Trace justice, he spoke without prejudice; not alluding minutely to past facts, but simply saying that the new scholar, George Paradyne, was the son of the man who had committed all sorts of ill, and ruined his father and Mr. Loftus. "And you and Loftus think you can't study with him!" observed the doctor, when he had listened, and asked a few questions. "I did not say that, sir: it is for you to decide. We shall get over the unpleasantness by degrees, no doubt, if he does stay on." "Very well, Trace; I'll consider of it. Keep a strictly silent tongue about it in the college." The interview did not last many minutes. Soon after its termination, an authoritative cry was heard down the cloisters for Loftus major. "Here," shouted Loftus from the other end of the quadrangle. "You are to go in to the Head Master." Away went Loftus in his indolent fashion; he rarely hurried himself for anything. Dr. Brabazon met him at his study door: he put into his hands a parcel tied with string, and sealed at the ends with the doctor's seal. "Your pistols, Loftus. I shall have something to say to you later, in regard to them and the calamity you have most unjustifiably been the means of causing. Take them back at once; and make my compliments to Sir Simon, and say I particularly wish to see him. Perhaps he will oblige me by coming over: to-day, if possible. You'll be back to dinner, if you put your best foot foremost." Mr. Loftus flung on his gown and cap, and went away with the parcel in an access of private rage. It was so mortifying! it was the very acme of humiliation!—a dog with a burnt tail could feel jolly, in comparison. Some of the middle-school boys, leaping over the road from the plantation, came right upon him. That incorrigible Dick was one of them, and he recognized the parcel. "It's the pistols," proclaimed Dick. "Brabazon has turned them out. I say, Bertie, though, that's not so bad; we had bets that he'd confiscate them." "A pity but he could confiscate you," was the scornful retort thrown back.