ir part.

Although, however, in everything else he did gradually succeed in
recovering all the ground his father had lost him, yet there was one
respect in which, I am sorry to say, he found all his efforts to
retrieve himself hopeless.

His little sweetheart, with the grey eyes and soft brown hair, cruelly
refused to have anything more to do with him. For Dulcie's pride had
been wounded by what she considered his shameless perfidy on that
memorable Saturday by the parallel bars; the last lingering traces of
affection had vanished before Paul's ingratitude on the following
Monday, and she never forgave him.

She did not even give him an opportunity of explaining himself, never by
word or sign up to the last day of the term showing that she was even
aware of his return. What was worse, in her resentment she transferred
her favour to Tipping, who became her humble slave for a too brief
period; after which he was found wanting in polish, and was
ignominiously thrown over for the shy new boy Kiffin, whose head Dick
found a certain melancholy pleasure in punching in consequence.

This was Dick's punishment, and a very real and heavy one he found it.
He is at Harrow now, where he is doing fairly well; but I think there
are moments even yet when Dulcie's charming little face, her pretty
confidences, and her chilling disdain, are remembered with something as
nearly resembling a heartache as a healthy unsentimental boy can allow
himself.

Perhaps, if some day he goes back once more to Crichton House "to see
the fellows," this time with the mysterious glamour of a great public
school about him, he may yet obtain forgiveness, for she is getting
horribly tired of Kiffin, who, to tell the truth, is something of a
milksop.

As for the Garuda Stone, I really cannot say what has become of it.
Perhaps it was dashed to pieces on the cobble-stones of the stables
behind the terrace, and a good thing too. Perhaps it was not, and is
still in existence, with all its dangerous powers as ready for use as
ever it was; and in that case the best I can wish my readers is, that
they may be mercifully preserved from finding it anywhere, or if they
are unfortunate enough to come upon it, that they may at least be more
careful with it than Mr. Paul Bultitude, by whose melancholy example I
trust they will take timely warning.

And with these very sincere wishes I beg to bid them a reluctant
farewell.

End of the Project Gutenberg EBoo