“The last turn of the thumbscrew!” said Mr. Bernard to himself.

“What is it, Helen?  You look troubled.”

She handed him the account.

He looked at the footing of it.  Then he looked at the items.  Then he looked at Silas Peckham.

At this moment Silas was sublime.  He was so transcendently unconscious of the emotions going on in Mr. Bernard’s mind at the moment, that he had only a single thought.

“The accaount’s correc’ly cast, I presoom;—­if the’ ’s any mistake of figgers or addin’ ’em up, it’ll be made all right.  Everything’s accordin’ to agreement.  The minute written immed’ately after the intervoo is here in my possession.”

Mr. Bernard looked at Helen.  Just what would have happened to Silas Peckham, as he stood then and there, but for the interposition of a merciful Providence, nobody knows or ever will know; for at that moment steps were heard upon the stairs, and Hiram threw open the parlor-door for Mr. Dudley Venner to enter.

He saluted them all gracefully with the good-wishes of the season, and each of them returned his compliment,—­Helen blushing fearfully, of course, but not particularly noticed in her embarrassment by more than one.

Silas Peckham reckoned with perfect confidence on his Trustees, who had always said what he told them to, and done what he wanted.  It was a good chance now to show off his power, and, by letting his instructors know the unstable tenure of their offices, make it easier to settle his accounts and arrange his salaries.  There was nothing very strange in Mr. Venner’s calling; he was one of the Trustees, and this was New Year’s Day.  But he had called just at the lucky moment for Mr. Peckham’s object.

“I have thought some of makin’ changes in the department of instruction,” he began.  “Several accomplished teachers have applied to me, who would be glad of sitooations.  I understand that there never have been so many fust-rate teachers, male and female, out of employment as doorin’ the present season.  If I can make sahtisfahctory arrangements with my present corpse of teachers, I shall be glad to do so; otherwise I shell, with the permission of the Trustees, make sech noo arrangements as circumstahnces compel.”

“You may make arrangements for a new assistant in my department, Mr. Peckham,” said Mr. Bernard, “at once,—­this day,—­this hour.  I am not safe to be trusted with your person five minutes out of this lady’s presence,—­of whom I beg pardon for this strong language.  Mr. Venner, I must beg you, as one of the Trustees of this Institution, to look at the manner in which its Principal has attempted to swindle this faithful teacher whose toils and sacrifices and self-devotion to the school have made it all that it is, in spite of this miserable trader’s incompetence.  Will you look at the paper I hold?”

Dudley Venner took the account and read it through, without changing a feature.  Then he turned to Silas Peckham.