"May I ask," repeated the principal in measured tone, "what were you doing on the Claybrook Road at this hour, Blake?" CHAPTER IX VAN'S GREAT DEED Dr Maitland, who was a man of unswerving justice, was influenced in his judgments neither by pity nor explanations, and thus it came about that when Van had answered his questions, putting before him the facts about his runaway, the principal sent the boy to his own room to there await sentence Van was in the lowest of spirits. What would the penalty of his insurrection be? He knew Dr. Maitland far too well to expect mercy, nor did he wish it. He was too proud for that. He had disobeyed the rules of the school, and he must now bear the punishment, be it what it would. The thought of holding back the facts had never entered his mind. Indolent he sometimes was even to laziness but never within his memory had he been dishonest. So he had fearlessly told the truth, and despite the calamity it threatened he found himself the happier for telling it. Whether it would mean expulsion from Colversham he did not know; probably it would. To think of leaving Colversham, the place he loved so much! And in disgrace, too. What would the other boys say? And his father? Van shrank at the thought of telling his father. Mr. Blake was a severe man who, like Dr. Maitland, would not gloss over the affair either by tolerance or sympathy. He would be angry, and he would have the right to be. Van admitted that. As he looked back on his school days he realized for the first time how indulgent his father had been; he had denied his son no reasonable wish, simply asking in return that the boy express his gratitude by studiousness and obedience. Van flushed as with vividness it came to his consciousness that he had repaid his father's goodness with neither of these things. He had studied just as little as was possible, and in place of appreciation he had rendered nothing but disgrace. His self-esteem was at a very low ebb when Bob, dismissed from the infirmary, returned to his old quarters. Van was seldom depressed--so seldom, in fact, that the sight aroused in his chum nothing but an anxiety lest he be ill. Surely nothing but sickness could cause Van Blake to lie on a couch, his face buried in pillows! "What's the matter, old fellow?" called Bob the instant he was inside the door. "Are you used up?" No answer. "I say, what's the trouble?" Bob repeated, hurrying to his side. It took much questioning before the story could be drawn from the boy's reluctant lips. "When Bob had at last heard it he was silent. "Can't you say something?" queried Van peevishly. "I hardly know what to say," Bob answered with slow gentleness. "I'm so sorry--so sorry and upset. I can't for the life of me understand how you came to do such a thing. Did you expect to get away with it? You must have known you would be missed at recitations and tracked down." "That's right--rub it in!"