“Remember, Sir,” cried the old man, “I take back my permission!”

“I understand, Sir,” replied Abel, bowing to him also.

He closed the door; and as he did so it seemed to Hope Wayne as if the sunshine were extinguished.

CHAPTER XII.

HELP, HO!

Abel Newt was fully aware that his time was short.  His father’s letter had apprised him of his presently leaving school.  To leave school—­was it not to quit Delafield?  Might it not be to lose Hope Wayne?  He was banished from Pinewood.  There were flaming swords of suspicion waving over that flowery gate.  The days were passing.  The summer is ending, thought he, and I am by no means saved.

Neither he nor Gabriel had mentioned their last visit to Pinewood and its catastrophe.  It was a secret better buried in their own bosoms.  Abel’s dislike of the other was deepened and imbittered by the ignominy of the expulsion by Mr. Burt, of which Gabriel had been not only a companion but a witness.  It was an indignity that made Abel tingle whenever he thought of it.  He fancied Gabriel thinking of it too, and laughing at him in his sleeve, and he longed to thrash him.  But Gabriel had much better business.  He was thinking only of Hope Wayne, and laughing at himself for thinking of her.

The boys were strolling in different parts of the village.  Abel, into whose mind had stolen that thought of the possible laughter in Gabriel’s sleeve, pulled out his handkerchief suddenly, and waved it with an indignant movement in the air.  At the same moment a carriage had overtaken him and was passing.  The horses, startled by the shock of the waving handkerchief, shied and broke into a run.  The coachman tried in vain to control them.  They sprang forward and had their heads in a moment.

Abel looked up, and saw that it was the Burt carriage dashing down the road.  He flew after, and every boy followed.  The horses, maddened by the cries of the coachman and passers-by, by the rattling of the carriage, and their own excitement and speed, plunged on with fearful swiftness.  As the carriage flew by, two faces were seen at the window—­both calm, but one terrified.  They were those of Hope and Mrs. Simcoe.

“Stop ’em! stop ’em!” rang the cry along the village street; and the idling villagers looked from the windows or came to the doors—­the women exclaiming and holding up their hands, the men leaving whatever they were doing and joining the chase.

The whole village was in motion.  Every body knew Hope Wayne—­every body loved her.