"Mr. Henry!" she repeated over and over again to herself as she went home. "And I had nearly overcome those doubts of him that so pained me. But the impudence of his using poor, unconscious Mr. Jebb's name!" And the "impudence" of the thing did strike upon her so forcibly that, in spite of her distress, she stood still and gave way to a burst of laughter, unable to restrain it within bounds. Dr. Brabazon was alone in his study when she entered, looking over some books just brought in. As if anxious to get the communication over, she sat down at once on a stool at his feet, and told him all. It must be remembered that _his_ suspicions had never been directed to Mr. Henry, and for the first few minutes he really thought his daughter was dreaming, or that the day's heat had affected her usually cool brain. "It is impossible, Emma. Steal my pencil!—Mr. Henry! My dear, you don't know what you are saying." "Papa, I am very sorry to say it. You must judge for yourself; but I don't see how it can have been otherwise. You have not been listening to me." "Begin again. Surprise took my listening faculties away." She untied her bonnet, pushed it off her head, and began again; telling him of Trace's back suspicions and their foundation; of her recent discovery of the pencil, and what passed. "Is there any _room_ to doubt, papa?" "Stay a moment, Emma: why did you not inform me of this doubt of Mr. Henry at the time?" "Because I thought, as you do now, that it was so very unlikely; and also—I feared—that some one altogether different might have taken it." "Who?" "Forgive me, papa; I know how you dislike the name to be mentioned—Tom." Dr. Brabazon frowned. "How could you possibly have suspected him when he was not near the place? That comes of letting your thoughts run upon him always. You should have told me this about Mr. Henry." She sat with her finger on her cheek, looking out apparently at the boys in the playground, and asking herself whether to tell the whole now—that Tom _was_ near the place the evening of the loss. But to what end? To hear of his being near them, always destroyed her father's rest; and the suspicion was now quite removed from him. "Mr. Henry must have intended to redeem it within a week, as he said, papa; or he would never have disclosed the fact of his being one of the college masters: he hoped, I suppose, to replace it here before it was missed. I wonder why he did not do it?" "Emma, I could have trusted that young man with untold gold." "What shall you do about it, papa?" "I don't know what to do," said the doctor, rousing himself from a pause of perplexed thought. "Look you, child; he _must_ stay here until the Oxford examination. To discharge him now might peril the passing of the boys." "I see. Of course it might. And he is so excellent a master!" "I wish; I _wish_ I had not heard this." Emma wished so too; wished, rather, there had been nothing to hear.