Chapter XIX: Neglected Duty

"It is often very profitable, to keep us more humble, that others
know and rebuke our faults."

"CAN I see the doctor, Miss Vernon?"

"My dear, what is the matter? Is your house on fire?"

"No; I want to speak to him quickly about one of the boys."

"One of your lambs?"

"It is Roland Gibbons; he was moved away from me last term."

"Then you have nothing on earth to do with him now."

Miss Vernon spoke sharply.

"Everard has been at it all day; there is some rumpus, but I never ask any questions. He has had no lunch; one of the masters kept him closeted in his study for nearly two hours. He went off to his classes after a hasty gulp of soup, and has this minute come in for a quiet cup of tea and, I hope, a little rest. Do for pity's sake leave him in peace."

"I must see him, I am afraid."

Audrey looked anxious and rather agitated. She was in Miss Vernon's drawing-room, and that good lady gave a little pitying smile as she looked at her.

"Oh, you are like all the rest. I am the only one in our community who can keep detached from the school affairs. No boy is worth making yourself so hot and eager over him. But I suppose I must let you have your way. Do you think you can get your business over in ten minutes?"

"It depends upon the doctor," said Audrey with relief in her tones as she followed Miss Vernon into the doctor's study.

He was leaning back in his chair shielding his eyes with his hand. Audrey saw him for the first time looking tired and dispirited. He looked up in surprise when he saw her, but he rose immediately and offered her a chair.

"Are you in difficulties of any sort?" he said.

"I have just heard of the raid on White's shop," said Audrey quickly. "I hear you are going to cane the six, Roland Gibbons amongst them, and I came to tell you—to ask you to let him off. I am positive he is not in the affair; he is shielding somebody else."

Dr. Vernon smiled.

"I am afraid you must trust your boys to me when they come into my school. Roland has left you for nearly two terms."

"But I know the boy better than you do," Audrey persisted. "In the first place, he has never been struck in his life, except on one occasion. He is a peculiar child, with a most violent, uncontrolled temper. A nurse once boxed his ears—his mother told me this—and though he was only five years old, he nearly killed her. He simply goes mad if anyone lays a hand upon him."

"I don't think that would deter me from acting as I thought right," said Dr. Vernon sternly.

"But he is so small. He is only just ten, and I am quite sure he is not one of the genuine culprits."

"Do you bring me any proofs?"

"I met the boy just now and spoke to him. I asked him to tell me the truth, and he said, 'Honour bright, I wasn't in it!' And I believed him. He never tells lies."

Dr. Vernon knitted his brows. He had some lawless spirits in the junior school, and a small pastrycook's close to the school gates had been raided in the dusk of an afternoon. It was kept by an old man, and at the time, he was suffering from a sharp attack of rheumatism.

Six of the boys were identified by old Tom White, and Roland Gibbons was amongst them. None of them denied it, and they were now awaiting their summons to the doctor's study.

"I will give him another chance," he said, "to acquit himself. If he does not take it, he must bear his punishment with the rest."

"I wish you would let him off and not press the point."

"That I cannot do."

"Oh, how hard a man can be!"

Audrey spoke with flashing eyes and scarlet cheeks.

Dr. Vernon rose and very courteously opened his door.

"Thank you for your information," he said with cold dignity. "Good afternoon."

"I hate him!" Audrey muttered passionately to herself. "He is an autocrat! The class of schoolmaster is most objectionable!"

Miss Vernon put her hand on her shoulder as she left the house.

"Don't you interfere with the doctor, my dear. Shut your eyes and ears, as I do, to anything outside your special province."

"I hate injustice!" said Audrey hotly.

She was appeased when she heard that a more searching inquiry had discovered the real culprit, and for the time Roland escaped. But he was a daring spirit, and a few weeks later met with the chastisement that was due to him.

Audrey could not lose interest in her boys; she dreaded the effect of corporal punishment on a boy of Roland's calibre. But to her astonishment, she found that from that date Roland almost worshipped the doctor. She never knew exactly what took place in that private interview, but she saw the good results of it, and marvelled, as she often did, at the doctor's personal influence over his boys.

One spring day, the whole school had an outing. It was a yearly visit to the patron of the school, an old general who lived in his big, lonely country house about fifteen miles away. He had a liking for all boys, and the whole school turned out to spend his birthday with him. There was fishing for the bigger lads, with impromptu sports and a hockey match in one of his fields, and his woods and grounds were thrown open to all.

They started in brakes at nine o'clock, and did not generally return till dark.

Audrey and Mrs. Bonar had a brake to themselves and their boys. It was a typical spring day, with hot sun and a fresh breeze, and the drive along the primrosed lanes delighted Audrey's soul. She had her hands full when she got there, for Mrs. Bonar was not actively inclined, and the small boys were in riotous spirits. Later in the day, she was in a wood with them, when Mr. Oates once more followed her and pertinaciously attached himself to her.

"This is my last term," he said. "I've had enough of boys. I'm trying to get a post as lecturer; meanwhile, I'm going to America to widen my mind."

"I heard that you were leaving," Audrey said quietly.

She had heard through Mrs. Ross that Dr. Vernon was parting with him owing to his slackness in his work. But she never believed the whole of that little lady's statements.

"Yes," Mr. Oates went on. "This is too narrow a sphere for me; and the doctor—if it is not treason to say so—is old-fashioned and behind the age. Miss Hume, I want to say something to you before I go. May I say it now?"

"Oh, please," said Audrey, nervously anticipating what was coming, "I think you had better not."

"But I must. You have fought shy of me all this term. I know you have thought it right to do so, and I respect you for it. But—but you must know what my feelings are towards you. I believe we are kindred souls. You, like myself, are chafing at our proscribed circle here. Together we could live our lives in freedom and happiness. We—"

"Are you asking me to marry you?" asked Audrey very quickly.

"I'm afraid marriage at present is a long way off, but if you will wait."

"I am very, very sorry," said Audrey, "but neither now nor at any other time could I do what you wish. I had no idea you felt anything more towards me than a mere friendly interest. Please forgive me for speaking quite frankly, but it is best for us both. And thank you very much."

Then, rather nervously, she added:

"I'm sure it is time I was collecting my boys. We were to start at six from the house, and it is now half-past five."

Mr. Oates would not be dismissed so quickly. He began to plead his cause again. And even when Audrey was marching her boys back, he still kept close to her side.

When they came to the house, one of the boys was missing. The doctor was marshalling the brakes off. He looked up a little impatiently as Mr. Oates and Audrey came into sight together. Mrs. Bonar was already seated in the brake, and the boys were clambering in.

"Oates, your boys are waiting for you over there." Dr. Vernon's voice was sharp and peremptory.

"Miss Hume has missed one of her boys," said Mr. Oates.

"That is her affair—not yours. Miss Hume is responsible for her boys."

Never had Audrey heard the doctor speak more sharply. Her cheeks burned. She dashed back into the path that led to the wood, and determined she would never speak to Mr. Oates again. And she began to reproach herself for her carelessness. Little Herbert Renton was one of the smallest of her flock; she had thought that he had run on in front. And if Mr. Oates had not been worrying her so, she would have discovered before that he was not with the others.

"I am not fit to be a schoolmistress," she said, as she began to call for the missing boy. "If I stay here all night, I won't venture back without him."

It was already beginning to get dusk. She made the wood echo with her shouts, and once she thought she heard a muffled cry. But there seemed no sight or sound of the child.

"Someone else might have turned back to help me," she thought bitterly. "Sometimes I dislike the doctor; he is such a disciplinarian—all head, no heart, and not an atom of softness or sympathy in his composition. It is a shame to leave me alone! It would be just like him to drive off and take all the others with him, and leave me to find my way home alone. It's not like a gentleman to behave so!"

A step behind her made her start. She hardly knew whether she was vexed or relieved to find it was the doctor.

"Well, can't you find him?"

His tone was still curt, but Audrey was meekness itself. "I'm very sorry. I thought he was on in front of me, but he could never have followed us."

"Are you sure he was here?"

"Yes; they were all having a game of hide-and-seek."

The doctor shouted, and then stopped to listen. He had sharper ears than Audrey, for he heard a faint answering shout.

"He is here somewhere," he said. "It sounds as if he were hurt. This is the direction."

Audrey followed him along a path which was much overgrown with brambles and briers. They presently came to a clearance, where there was a group of old oaks, and now distinctly from one of these they heard the muffled cry for help.

"Where are you?" called the doctor. "Up a tree?"

"Inside, and I'm dying. Help!—Help!"

"It's hollow; he has fallen into it!" cried Audrey.

And her conjecture proved right. Dr. Vernon threw off his coat and climbed the old tree like a schoolboy. Herbert was at first too low down to be reached, until the doctor lowered his coat and told him to catch hold of the sleeve of it. Then he drew him up carefully, and in another moment, Audrey had her arms around the breathless, dishevelled, frightened child. He clung hold of her and sobbed aloud.

"I cried and cried and cried, and I thought I was going to be starved and buried there!"

Then Audrey saw the soft side of Dr. Vernon. He hoisted the boy into his arms and carried him along, talking to him more like a tender father than a schoolmaster. She followed them in silence. In the drive that led to the house, they met some gardeners coming off to help them in their search.

General Tennant was pacing the terrace in some perturbation of mind. He was greatly relieved when he saw them.

"Now you really must stay to dinner," he said, laying his hand on Dr. Vernon's arm. "All your flock are safely driving home, and this young lady can make herself comfortable in my housekeeper's room, if she likes, with the boy. Mrs. Green is a good soul and a most superior woman. Then you can drive them home later; or send them off in your dogcart now, and I'll have the brougham out to take you home."

Audrey's head was raised and a heightened colour was in her cheeks as she passed the old general. She knew that in his old-fashioned eyes, she was just a governess, to be ranked with his upper servants, and her pride rose in arms at once. But she did not say a word. Herbert was scratched and bruised with his fall, and sadly wanted a good wash and tidying up. So she went up to the housekeeper's room with him, and for the next quarter of an hour occupied herself with his toilet.

Then a message came up to her from the doctor, asking her if she were ready to start, and going downstairs she found the doctor's dogcart at the door.

He had declined to stay to dinner, and Audrey was thankful to feel that they were returning home at once.

He wrapped his thick rug round her carefully; Herbert snuggled in between them, and was so tired that he fell fast asleep with Audrey's arm around him before they had driven a mile.

"Are you cold?" Dr. Vernon asked presently.

"Not at all, thank you."

"What did the general say as he wished you good-bye?"

Audrey gave her low laugh as she answered, with a bit of mimicry in her tone:

"'Let me advise you, young woman, to look after your pupils in a more trustworthy manner. The doctor is sadly inconvenienced by the delay you have caused.'

"And I nearly made him a curtsy and said, 'Yes, sir; I'm sorry, sir.'"

"I think his advice was good," said the doctor quietly.

"I know it was," said Audrey, checking her mirth, "but I never can remember my position in life, and I don't like being treated like an inferior being."

"Your work is the same as mine," said the doctor. "I don't feel that teaching is a degrading position."

"Ah! The general would make a distinction between us," said Audrey; "and, of course, there is one. I think I am too big for my shoes. I am always being told so by Mrs. Bonar. I keep reminding myself that I am nearly penniless and am earning my living, but I cannot be servile to my superiors. I think I feel that anyone who earns their living is on the same level. There are officers in the army and navy who only live on their pay, and judges and ministers of state, and bishops, and all the big government officials simply earn their living as I do. I say that we are quits!"

Audrey was talking at random. She was feeling nervous of the long drive and "tête-à-tête" conversation with the doctor, and she dreaded that he should allude to her being in Mr. Oates' company.

But Dr. Vernon talked very pleasantly to her on various topics outside the school, and then suddenly said:

"You have returned me all the books I have lent you. Have they helped you?"

"Yes, they have."

Audrey spoke gravely now. She was always rather shy of talking about her spiritual difficulties.

"Do you want any more?"

"No, thank you. They have led me to my Bible. I am finding out my ignorance of it. And there is such a warmth and life in it! The other books are cold, and hard, though convincing, but the Bible is—well, I can't explain; it gives life and it sustains it, and I hope I shall never get away from it."

"You have learnt a good deal if you have learnt that," said Dr. Vernon. Then his voice grew tense and earnest as he added:

"Be real and sincere, Miss Hume; never put up with the second best. Don't forget the empty shrine. Let the glory of your womanhood circle round the One Who owns you. And with Him in your heart and life, you will be a burning power for good amongst those small boys who are in your charge."

Audrey bent over Herbert's curly head resting contentedly on her shoulder.

"I feel I'm only the smoking flax at present," she said. "I hope the flame will come."

And then for the rest of the drive they were silent. When she and Herbert were deposited at her door, she looked up at the doctor with penitent eyes.

"Please forgive me for my carelessness, and thank you for coming back to help me. I shudder when I think what the plight of this poor child might have been had we left him."

His tone was inscrutable as he replied:

"Let the charge of your boys be your first consideration."

"There spoke the schoolmaster," said Audrey to herself as she turned away. "I like him best when he forgets his vocation."

And Dr. Vernon, as he sat eating his belated dinner that evening, was haunted by a pair of grey eyes looking up into his—the grey eyes of which his sister had said: "If you look at them, you are perfectly certain that you can trust her, and that honour, frankness, and fearlessness are her chief characteristics."

The result of his cogitations was the emphatic comment to himself:

"I am glad this is Oates' last term."

In which he showed himself a man as well as a schoolmaster.