"Have you anything on your mind?" asked the doctor; and either the nature of the question or its suddenness brought a flush to Mr. Henry's face. They were in the study, seated opposite each other near the large window, the deserted playground, silent now, lying beyond it in the vista; so that the quick flush was perfectly perceptible to Dr. Brabazon. "Now," thought he, "for my opportunity: I could not have a better. Mr. Henry," he resumed, aloud, "I have for some time fancied that you had some care or trouble, that you were concealing especially from me." A pause. A yearning look of what seemed like detection—detection pleading for pardon—crossed Mr. Henry's countenance. The hour, which he had been dreading for months, was come; and he was not ready for it! He sat in uncomfortable suspense, not knowing how much or how little the master knew, pressing his thin fingers together, his elbows resting on the arm of the chair. "That some unpleasant trouble was on your mind I have undoubtedly seen," resumed the doctor. "Now that the opportunity for explanation has come, I think you must afford it to me." "I cannot disclose it to you now, sir," said Mr. Henry slowly, and with evident pain. "Perhaps in a day or two—" "But suppose no disclosure is needed?—suppose I know it already?" interrupted the master. "Is that so?" asked Mr. Henry, lifting his face. "It is. The affair has unhappily come to my knowledge; not, of course, the inducement—the—the leading motive for yielding to the temptation. I cannot describe to you how it has pained me. Had you been a son of mine I could scarcely have felt it more. It seemed that I might so fully trust you." "Since when have you known it?" asked Mr. Henry in a low tone. "For some weeks now. I did not stir in it at the time," continued the master, brushing a large fly off his black waistcoat, "on account of not interrupting the classes of the boys who were going up for the examination. And, that over, I thought things might remain as they were until the vacation, as they had gone on so long." "Then you intend to discharge me, Dr. Brabazon?" The doctor could not help thinking it was rather an _assuming_ question. He played with his paper weight on the table. "What do _you_ think about that, Mr. Henry?" "Of course I have feared so. But yet—" "But yet what?" "Oh, sir, I'd rather not go on. I was going to speak of leniency—of consideration; but you might think it only made my offence worse." "I will show you all the leniency in my power. I think my having delayed the explanation proves that my intentions are not hostile, and I will be your friend if I can. You were, I conclude, led into this by some overwhelming pecuniary pressure, as others have been before you, and then found that you could not redeem your act. This is Emma's view of the case as well as mine. Why did you not make a friend of me, and tell me your difficulty? I would have lent you the money." "What money, sir?"