CHAPTER XIX

CREAKLE'S REVENGE

"It's true; I heard it myself when I was over that way this last week," said Creakle, nodding his head affirmatively.

"Who was it told you?" said Tenny.

"A fellow called Sloan, a big, honest sort of a fellow in the employ of the Lanyans. He's a sort of an understrapper to young Master Richard, who will be graduated soon from Eton College."

"What did he say?"

"That Trembath's father was a traitor to the government; that he turned traitor in the late war with America, leastways he has not shown his face hereabouts since the war. Some think he is dead, and others think he was a traitor, and daren't show his face in England, but is living in exile somewhere in America. Sloan--I think his first name is Bob--told me himself that Richard and his father, Sir James, both believe that he was a traitor."

"No proofs but their thoughts," said Tenny, doubtfully.

"Well, it is the current belief of the whole neighbourhood, and then, there is strong proof of his grandfather being a traitor. There is no doubt about that at all. Bob told me that it was through the patriotism of Richard's grandfather that the matter was called to the attention of Newcastle, and Trembath Manor was confiscated."

"How? What was the treason?"

"Well, he was a soldier in the war of England against France, in the colonies. He was in Braddock's defeat, and after that battle he turned for the French. He was with them for upwards of a year or so, and no one knows what harm he did during that time. They say he consorted with the French of Quebec, was a spy in their employ, and was afterwards raised to some rank as an officer."

"A traitor to his own land and his own people!" exclaimed Tenny.

"Yes, and that isn't all. They say he became as bloody a savage as the Indians. I suppose he received a good reward from the French. Some say he was an aide of Montcalm."

"And how was he found out?"

"He was shot in the van of a fight between Armstrong's troops and the French. They found his body and recognised it by letters from England. He had on a French officer's uniform and a commission in the French army in his pocket. They brought him home, and Sir Richard Lanyan brought the facts to the knowledge of the government, and the Trembath home was confiscated, and they were driven out. It served them right, I say."

"That it did," asserted Tenny.

"And here's one of the family, this Ande, that's lording it over us. I believe it was he that soaked my gown in that beastly rye and got me in such a scrape with the head."

Tenny smiled, for he had no love for Creakle, except as a tool.

"It was no laughing matter, I can tell you. The head nearly fired me," said Creakle, a little sullenly.

"Come, come, no offence. I have as much reason to dislike Trembath as you have. Didn't he sneak into being head of the fifth through meanness, getting up and reciting, when all the rest of the fellows had agreed to refuse to recite. He has been there ever since, but he never would have got there if he hadn't turned traitor to his form, like his father and grandfather to the government. Blood will tell."

"And, I say, we ought to let the fellows know, and pull him down a peg or two. Let him know his place among the sons of honourable Englishmen. He ought to be sent to Coventry, I say."

"Come over here and we'll talk it over with one or two of the fellows," said Tenny.

A little coterie of fellows of the fifth form were soon assembled around Tenny and Creakle, on the Bowling Green, and their nodding heads and colloquy portended mischief to the head of the fifth. Tenny had never forgotten the way in which he was shouldered out of the headship of the fifth form, and Creakle was burning with more hate since his late disgrace, which he blamed on Ande. Now, had it depended upon Creakle alone, nothing would have come of the disclosure of the stain upon Ande's name, but when Tenny took up the matter it was eagerly listened to. The latter portrayed in indignant tones the treachery of Ande's family to the government. Should they consort with him, after this knowledge? It was all well enough, as long as they did not know the family disgrace. But, now they knew, they ought to show their abhorrence of such conduct.

He ought to be expelled from the school, but they couldn't do that, but they could, at least, debar him from fellowship and keep him from the leadership in the form that he had always maintained. The son and grandson of a traitor shall not lead us in our sports. He was a traitor at heart, like his people before him, for had he not gained the headship of the form through an act of treason to his fellows, and his remarks of the injustice of the king also bore testimony. Such was the line of Tenny's sophistry, in which Creakle was a second.

One or two of the form demurred, with the remark that it was hard for a son to be villified on account of the errors of his fathers.

"I'll prove the contrary from the Bible," said Tenny. "Aren't the Jews to-day despised, and righteously, for their treason to their king, and doesn't the Bible say that the sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the children?"

The demurrers were overborne by Tenny's reasoning. Dick, being so close a friend of Ande, was not taken into the conference, but he was not so slow in taking in the cold demeanour of the students to Ande, and even to him self, in a milder degree. Henceforth there were no games in which Ande participated. If he sought entrance to a game, the game was instantly adjourned, and he found himself left more and more to himself. He, as well as Dick, was at a loss to know the reason of the altered manner of treatment. The revelation came to Dick.

He was going to enter a game of hurling on the Bowling Green, when Creakle objected.

"Why?" said Dick, in amazement.

"Because you are the friend of the son of a traitor. His father and his grandfather were traitors to the government, and he's a traitor himself," sneered Creakle.

"Who?"

"The Dane," said Creakle, with another sneer. "All the fellows have refused to have anything to do with him. He's been sent to Coventry. He's a traitor's son, and the blot of treason hangs to his name."

"It's a lie," said Dick, hotly; "he's not a traitor's son," and with a back-handed slap of his hand, he sent Creakle reeling.

"It's true," said Tenny, as he edged in among the other lads. "All the lads of his home place will tell you the same thing, and you'll be treated the same way as we are treating him, if you don't cut him."

Dick, scarcely believing his ears, hurried off to his friend, Ande, bursting into the study with a bound.

"Do ye know why the fellows have cut you and me?"

"No."

"Why, they say you are the son of a traitor. That your father and grandfather were traitors to the government. Creakle said so, and I give him a back-handed slap that sent him some feet. It was Creakle who told me."

"The contemptible dog!" exclaimed Ande, with a flash of the eye. "It's not true, though the circumstances look the other way. They were both honourable men."

"You needn't tell me," said Dick. "I believe if your father and grandfather were like you, there couldn't be a bit of treason in them. I told Creakle it was a lie, and then Tenny spoke up and said that it was true, and that if I didn't cut you the same as the rest of them are doing, they would cut me. They have sent us to Coventry."

"Dick, you 'ave been a good friend to me, and you did right in treating Creakle as you did, for I should have done the same. The old blot that drove me from my native village will drive me from here as well. It is the curse that has been on our family since my grandfather's death, but you have no hand in this. You had better cut me, or they will make your life here as unbearable as mine. I'll move into a study of my own. It is for your own interest that I am looking."

"Stuff! Let them send me to Coventry if they will. I don't believe there is any truth in the rumour, and we don't part like that. Didn't you save my life in the smugglers' battle, and I'm going to stick to you through all this Coventry business. Put it there," and Dick stretched his great hand across the study table and grasped the hand of Ande and shook it warmly. There was a grateful look in the latter's eyes.

"You have done too many things for me, to turn in with a rabble like that. You have changed old Dullhead into a brighter man, and made him Old Ironsides, and we'll let them know that Old Ironsides is going to stick to you. Why, Ande, you and I could clean out the whole crew in a personal fight on the Bowling Green, and--zounds! I'd like to do it."

"And they would gain their desires. We'd be expelled."

"Never thought of that."

"It's what would happen, though."

There was silence in the study for the space of half an hour, during which they laboured on the coming lessons. Then, it was Dick, who broke the silence.

"How did it happen that the idea of treason got out. I don't believe it, but I'm a bit curious."

"It's a long story, but I'll tell you some day, Dick, and let you see some documents that I have still in my possession. There's the gong."

A deep sound of a gong, indicating the dinner hour in the dining-room below, broke the silence, and they hurried forth to its summons.

After the discovery of Dick, and the encounter with Creakle, neither he nor Ande sought the games of the others. If they needed recreation, they took it in long walks along the sea-coast or in the country. The enmity of Creakle and Tenny was shown in many petty ways. They were not content with sending to Coventry alone. Once, on their return, they found a placard on their study door with the sentence of, "The Home of Treason," written on it, but this did not stir the wrath of Ande as much as a later placard, a rude sketch of a soldier with red hair, hands bound, eyes blindfolded, and before him a file of soldiers with weapons presented, ready to fire, and near at hand a grave and a coffin. With a burst of passion, he tore it down and ground it under his heel.

* * * * *

"And how is my knight progressing in the tournament of the schools?"

It was in the gardens of Trembath Manor, and it was Mistress Alice who was speaking. She was clad in light spring garb that wonderfully set off her trim figure and brought out into greater prominence the wavy darkness of her hair, and depth of her eyes, that seemed deeper and brighter under the mellow sunlight without. She was standing near one of her favourite rose-beds, and near her was the tall form of Ande Trembath, the few months at school adding new dignity and age to his features. He was glad to be there, near her, and to be called "her knight," as she had called him on the last Christmas eve. He was home on a short vacation, and it seemed wonderfully pleasant to be with her in the gardens of old Trembath, especially after the dreary atmosphere of the school, rendered more dreary and wretched by the uncharitable spirit of his fellows of the fifth; to watch the dark eyes kindling and rekindling at some jest, and then the sober shadow at the recital of the escapage of the smugglers. He told her all, the merry adventure at the duck cave, the hurling game, and then the sending to Coventry. Yes, this was going to be his last year at the school. The curse of treason had followed him, and even his friend, Dick, was involved in the petty spirit of malice of the students. He was discouraged, and she knew it. His face betokened it as he related the sending to Coventry.

"Do you know that my knight has forgotten some of his pledges made last Christmas eve?" she said, and her eyes flashed once more, back from the sombreness brought into them by the Coventry recital.

"How?"

"I said that the knight that I should admire would not despair at a few difficulties, and my knight said that he would not."

"Neither am I," doubtfully.

"Your very tone indicates the contrary."

"You think it best to remain and stand all taunts and malice?"

"Assuredly; and will not that be the very best way to prepare yourself for the future battles. Is it brave to run away from a foe?"

There was a flush on the face of the youth.

"I see you are right. I shall stay and fight it out, and they will see who grows tired of the Coventry business first. You give me the same advice as Parson Trant. He said stand firm, and stick to the school."

"Parson Trant is generally right."

"And so are you."

"Of course, in this case, I am right, but at times, I suppose, I am wrong."

"For instance?"

"Well, my father has broached a plan that lies close to his heart. You know the Lanyan estate lies close to ours, and he is anxious for me to be settled in life soon."

A cold, icy hand seemed to clutch his heart and hold it in a vice-like grip. The blood forsook his features, for a moment, as he listened.

"And he?" interrogatively.

"And he was thinking how well the two would go together, and that Lady Alice would not sound so bad. Then it would place our family among the highest in the county. I thought at first that it was all foolishness, but I suppose he is right and I am wrong."

"No, no, no, you are right. You must not sacrifice yourself to a whim."

"No, I am wrong," pensively.

"You are right. It must not be," and then at the remembrance of Master Richard and Sir James, he flushed an angry hue and clenched his fists tightly.

"Must not be?" archly.

"Aye, it shall not be."

"Why?"

"Because I say it shall not be."

"Indeed, since when have I had a new master, or a master at all, for that matter?"

There was a rebellious tone in her voice, and a quick, tumultuous beating of her heart. To be told she should not do this or that was something new to her, the mistress of the Manor, and yet, his tone, his manner of speaking, that masterful way of asserting himself--she liked him better for it.

"I say it shall not be," doggedly.

"And why?"

"Because--because--because--I am your knight," he said, desperately, "and I cannot see any harm come to you, and your happiness wrecked by marrying such. If you only knew the Lanyans as I know them."

"Perhaps my happiness would not be wrecked."

"Ah, but it shall not be. It must not be."

"You have given me no reason why it should not. Should not a child obey her father?"

Her eyes were glowing mischievously.

"Alice, Alice, if you will not listen to reason, it is because I say so, and I--I--I--love you. Oh! Alice, I have wanted to tell you so long--but the stain of treason--but give me at least hope that if the stain be removed--and it shall--that I shall not love you in vain."

The hue of Mistress Alice's cheeks rivalled her own roses. She fought down the exultant, happy feeling within, and strove to be her former self; yes, even strove to be angry, but what woman is angry when told that she is loved.

"There is father. Calm yourself, or he will notice you."

Coming over the green terrace was the stout frame of old Squire Vivian, most unwelcome sight at this hour, at least to Ande. His question was doomed to remain unanswered. The squire greeted him in his bluff, cheery manner, asked him of the school and his progress. The excellent reports he had received from Master Trewan had inclined him a little more favourably to his _protégé_. Taking advantage of the presence of her father, Mistress Alice slipped away and hid herself in the privacy of her own rooms.