You may therefore imagine what his sensations were when the Head Master subsequently appealed to his honour; to his, in common with that of the rest of the school. He could not declare himself; the time had gone by; it was quite impossible that he, _having concealed it_, could come forth with the avowal at that, the eleventh hour. Over and over again he blamed his folly and his cowardice for having stolen away; he would give all the money his pockets contained—and money was often a scarce commodity with Mr. Trace—to have bravely gone up to the wounded boy and declared the truth of the accident. He called himself a fool; he called himself a coward; he called himself sundry other disparaging names: but that it was not in his habit to do it, he might have sworn at himself. Not for the mere act in itself, the having fired the pistol; that was almost a pure accident; but for having concealed that it was he who did it. However, his course was entered upon, and all he could do now was to hope and trust that he might never be discovered. While this hope was filling every crevice of his heart, making itself heard hourly in his brain, there came the startling question of the German master—"Was it not you I met?" Trace could only be indignant and say it was not; but the disagreeable doubt, whether he had been positively recognized or not, caused him to fear and hate Mr. Henry with a bitter fear and hatred. He thought it was but a suspicion, not a recognition, for Mr. Henry's quiet and cautious manner deceived him, and he grew to believe that his denial had borne its intended fruit. So the fear subsided, but the hatred ripened; and it might perhaps bring trouble in the future. A sunny day towards the close of September, and Miss Brabazon went abroad with Rose. She was about to pay a visit to Mrs. Paradyne; not only because it was her custom to call on the friends of the outdoor boys, but to show, in this instance, all she could of consideration and kindness. The Head Master and Miss Brabazon were in one respect the very opposite to Trace. Trace thought inherited misfortune a legitimate target for lances of contempt, if not of reproach; _they_ deemed such people, so blameless and unhappy, should receive all of gentle commiseration that the world can show. Miss Rose went mincing along in her short petticoats, the tails to her Leghorn hat flying behind, as she turned her little vain head from side to side, looking if any chance college boy might be abroad to cast his admiring eyes upon her. Not seeing one, she darted up to Mrs. Gall's governess, who was walking about the grounds of Mr. Gall's residence with some of the children, and then darted back to her sister. "There's Jessie and Kate Gall, Emma. Can't you call on their mamma, while I walk about with them? Mrs. Gall is at the window. I know her by the yellow in her cap."