The words went down into Raymond Trace's uneasy conscience; that debt seemed as nothing, compared to the one now thrown on him. He dashed into his explanation. "Circumstances have occurred which show me how very wrong and mistaken my resentment against you and George has been. I will not allude to them; I'm not up to it to-night; but you will hear soon enough what they are. And I came round to say that I am sorry for it; that I repent of it in a degree which no words could express.—You were prayed for in chapel to-night;" continued Trace, after a pause. "The report in the school is that your case is hopeless." "It is quite so, I fear." Trace paused, as if to get up his voice, which seemed like himself—very low. "You will say you forgive me before you die?" "The need of forgiveness lies on my side," said Arthur Paradyne, pressing the cold hand with a grateful pressure. "If you were a little resentful, it was but natural. Say you forgive my poor father!" "Don't!" cried Trace, with a sort of wail. "I'll come in again another time, when you have learnt to understand better." "One moment," said Mr. Henry, detaining him. "You seem to have some great sorrow upon you to-night. Is it so?" "Sorrow!" bitterly echoed Trace. "Ay; one that will last me my life. A sorrow, to which yours has been as nothing." "I have been picturing you as so full of joy this evening. Trace, you _have_ gained the Orville. I know it." "Yes. But I shall give it up to-night." "Give up the Orville!" "I cannot help myself. Good-bye." Mr. Henry was curious, but he would not question further. Trace's hand was still a prisoner. "When pain is too fresh to be spoken of, Trace, there is only one thing to do," he gently whispered. "_I_ learnt it." "Yes. What?" asked Trace, rather vacantly. "_Carry it to God_. And then in time you will learn that it came down to you from Him; came in love. One of those mountains that lie in the road to Heaven, so sharp to the feet in climbing them, so good to look back upon when the summit is gained, the labour done. Good night." The low persuasive accents lingered on Raymond Trace's ear as he went out into the night; the suffering, kind, gentle face rested on his memory. God help him! God pardon him for the additional thorns he had gratuitously cast on this young man's already thorny path. What a wicked spirit had been his! He had sown thorns and nettles and noxious weeds; and in accordance with the inevitable law of Nature, they had come up to sting and pierce him. CHAPTER XXIV. In the Quadrangle.