"Your name
is Trevarthen, I believe?"

"Tom Trevarthen, miss."

"Then, Tom Trevarthen, you are a poor coward. Now do your worst and go
your way. You have heard the truth."

"'Tidn' best a man said that to me," answered Tom, with a lowering brow.

"A man?" she replied, with a short laugh of contempt which in her own ears
sounded like a sob. "There were men here just now; but you waited till
they were gone!"

"No, miss; I did not, you'll excuse me. I only knew the school was to
open to-day. I came ashore half an hour ago, and walked up here across
the fields." He stood for a second or two meditatively twisting his round
cap between his hands. "We'll play fair, though," he said, and faced
round on the benches. "Sorry to disappoint 'ee, boys, but you must do
without your holiday, after all. This here is a man's job, as Miss Marvin
says, and 'tis for men to settle it. Only,"--he turned upon Hester again--
"you must name your man quick. My ship sails early in the week; let alone
that there's cruel wrong being done, and the sooner 'tis righted the
better."

Hester's hand went up to her throat. Was this extraordinary youth
actually proposing a wager of battle? His eyes rested on hers seriously;
his demeanour had become entirely courteous.

"Ah," she gasped, "but cannot you see that the mischief is done!
You behave shamefully, and now you talk childishly. You have made these
children disloyal, and what hold can I have on them except through their
loyalty? You have thrown me back at the start--I cannot bear to think how
far--and you talk as if some foolish violence could mend this for me!
Please--please go away! I have no patience to argue with you."

"Yes, go away!" broke in a shrill treble voice. It was Clem's. The child
had risen from his bench and stood up, gripping the desk in front and
trembling.

"Clem dear, you don't understand--" began Myra.

"Yes, I do understand!" For the first time in his life his will clashed
with hers. "Tom Trevarthen is wrong, and ought to go away."

"She's a nasty, deceitful witch!"

"She's not a witch!" The child's eyes turned towards Hester, as if
seeking to behold her and be assured. "You're not a witch, are you?" he
asked; and at the question Hester's tears, so long held back, brimmed
over.

Before she could answer him the door opened, and Mr. Sam stood in the
entry with Mrs. Purchase close behind his shoulder, in a sky-blue and
orange bonnet.

"Eh? H