She went at once to question the servants, debating in her mind whether this was fact, or an invention of the German master's to throw suspicion from himself. Not any tidings could she get of a letter having been brought by hand that night. Dean was positive that no such letter had been delivered: One came the previous night, he said, for Mr. Baker and he took it to him. Miss Brabazon went back to the study, and asked Mr. Henry, waiting there by her desire, whether he had not made a mistake in the night. "None whatever," was his reply. "I had received a letter from Heidelberg that day, enclosing an order for a little money due to me, and when I met this man I was considering how I could shape my duties on the following one, so as to have time to go to London and get it cashed." "And did you go?" "Yes, as soon as morning school was over. I told the doctor what my errand was. When I left, they were searching the hall for the pencil." This, if true, disposed of one part of Mr. Trace's suspicions. Miss Brabazon thought how candid and upright he looked as he stood there talking to her. "Should you know the man again, Mr. Henry?" she suddenly asked. "I might know his voice: I did not see much of his face. A youngish man; thirty, or rather more. I thought he walked a little lame." Miss Brabazon lifted her head with more quickness than the information seemed to warrant. "Lame! _Lame?_" "It struck me so." She said no more. She sat looking out straight before her with a sort of bewildered stare. Mr. Henry left her to return to the hall; but she sat on, staring still and seeing nothing. CHAPTER IX. Christmas Day. Some weeks elapsed. Things had blown over, and the Christmas holidays were coming on. Wonders and calamities; and, in some degree, suspicions; yield to the soothing hand of time. Talbot's accident was almost forgotten; the lost pencil (never found) was not thought of so much as it had been, and the gossip respecting it had ceased. The bitterness had not lessened against George Paradyne. Gall could not fathom its source. There was no cause for it, as far as he knew, except that the boy had been placed at once at the first desk, and had entered his name for the Orville prize; both of which facts were highly presumptuous in a new scholar, and an outsider. It was also known that he was in the habit of flying to Mrs. Butter's house for help in his studies: the boys supposed that the German (as they derisively called Mr. Henry) was paid for giving it: and many an ill-natured sneer was levelled at them both. "Are you going to coach Paradyne through the holidays?" asked Trace of Mr. Henry, condescending to address him for once in a way: and be it remarked that when Trace so far unbended, he did not forget his usual civility. But Mr. Henry always detected the inward feeling.