At this unexpected reply, the boys slunk away to the college schoolroom, their buoyant spirits sunk down to dust and ashes--figuratively speaking. They could not understand it; they had not the most distant idea what their offence could have been. Gaunt entered, and the rest trooped in after him. The head-master sat at his desk in stern state: the other masters were in their places. “What is the meaning of this insubordination?” the master sharply demanded, addressing Gaunt. “You are three-quarters of an hour behind your time.” “We have been up to the judges, as usual, for holiday, sir,” replied Gaunt, in a tone of deprecation. “His lordship sends his card and compliments to you, and--” “Holiday!” interrupted the master. “Holiday!” he repeated, with emphasis, as if disbelieving his own ears. “Do you consider that the school deserves it? A pretty senior you must be, if you do.” “What has the school done, sir?” respectfully asked Gaunt. “Your memory must be conveniently short,” chafed the master. “Have you forgotten the inked surplice?” Gaunt paused. “But that was not the act of the whole school, sir. It was probably the act of only one.” “But, so long as that one does not confess, the whole school must bear it,” returned the master, looking round on the assembly. “Boys, understand me. It is not for the fault itself--that may have been, as I said yesterday, the result of accident; but it is the concealment of the fault that makes me angry. Will you confess now?--he who did it?” No; the appeal brought forth no further result than the other had done. The master continued: “You may think--I speak now to the guilty boy, and let him take these words to himself--that you were quite alone when you did it; that no eye was watching. But let me remind you that the eye of God was upon you. What you refuse to tell, He can bring to light, if it shall so please Him, in His own wonderful way, His own good time. There will be no holiday to-day. Prayers.” The boys fell into their places, and stood with hanging heads, something like rebellion working in every breast. At breakfast-time they were dismissed, and gathered in the cloisters to give vent to their sentiments. “Isn’t it a stunning shame?” cried hot Tom Channing. “The school ought not to suffer for the fault of one boy. The master has no right--” “The fault lies in the boy, not in the master,” interrupted Gaunt. “A sneak! a coward! If he has a spark of manly honour in him, he’ll speak up now.” “As it has come to this, I say Charley Channing should be made to declare what he knows,” said one. “He saw it done!” “Who says he did?” quickly asked Tom Channing. “Some one said so; and that he was afraid to tell.” Gaunt lifted his finger, and made a sign to Charles to approach. “Now, boy”--as the latter obeyed--“you will answer _me_, remember. The master has called the seniors to his aid, and I order you to speak. Did you see this mischief done?”