"Oh, impossible!" cried Morris wildly.
"No, sir," said the Colonel, smiling. "Quite possible. But you don't offend me, sir. I admire the way in which you defend the man whom you seem to have made your friend.--Well, Doctor, there's your man.--Why, boys, you seem to have been babies in his hands. Glyn, I'm ashamed of you."
Glyn looked at the Doctor, and then at Morris, as he felt that his father was not treating him fairly; but he held his tongue, and then his eyes flashed with satisfaction as Singh gave him a quick look and then spoke out.
"Glyn had nothing to do with it, sir," he said. "He protested against it, and regularly bullied me for showing this man the belt and lending him money."
"Ha, ha!" said the Colonel. "Then he fleeced you a little, did he, my boy?"
"Well, yes, sir. I lent or gave him some money, because I thought that he was a poor gentleman. How was I to know that he was not honest, when--when--"
He was about to say "when my teachers were deceived," but the Colonel checked him.
"There, there, there," he said; "that'll do, Singh. You are not the first fellow of your age who has been imposed upon by a needy scoundrel."
"No," said the Doctor sharply. "If any one is to blame it is I, who pitied the position of a man out of employment and tried to befriend him. Well, Colonel Severn, I am very sorry; but it is forced upon me.
I feel it a duty to you to try and make some recompense."
"Oh, nonsense!" said the Colonel rather haughtily. "I need no recompense."
"Indeed, sir," said the Doctor, "but I am answerable to Mr Singh here for his loss through my want of care and foresight."
"Oh, pooh, sir! pooh! The belt was not worth much; eh, Singh?"
"Oh no," said the boy contemptuously, and raising his head he walked up to the Doctor and held out his hand. "Don't say any more about it, sir, please," he added rather proudly. "I don't mind losing the belt a bit."
"Oh, but," cried the Doctor, catching at and pressing the boy's hand warmly, "this is very brave and noble of you, my boy. Still I must put aside all false shame and accept the punishment that may fall upon me from the want of confidence that people may feel in the future.--Colonel Severn, this must go into the hands of the police. Such a man as this must be run down; it is a duty, and before he imposes upon others as he has imposed upon me."
"No, no, no, my dear sir! No, no," cried the Colonel. "The swindling scoundrel has had his punishment before this, so let him go."
"I beg your pardon," said the Doctor; "he cannot have had his punishment; and such a man as this should not be allowed to be at large."
"There, there, sir," cried the Colonel, laughing pleasantly, and greatly to the annoyance of the Doctor that he should treat the loss of his ward's valuable belt in so light a way. "I find that I must make a confession. That belt really was not intrinsically worth more than a ten-pound note. It cost me about twenty; but I very much doubt whether the scoundrel would be able to sell it for a tithe of the amount."
"Guardian," cried Singh, "what are you saying?"
"Something in very plain English, my boy. Let's see, how old are you now?"
"Sixteen, sir."
"Well, it's about two years since you began to attack me about letting you have that part of the Dour regalia, and I wanted to satisfy you and do my duty in the trust my good old friend your father placed in me."
"I don't understand, sir," cried the boy, flushing.
"You soon will, my lad. I, in my desire to do my duty by you, felt that it would not be right to let a mere schoolboy like you come away to make your home at some place of education with so costly, and, from its associations, unique a jewel as the one in question."
"You used to say so to me, sir," said the boy quickly.
"Yes. But in your young hot-blooded Indian nature you were not pacified, and I felt bound to do something that I thought then would be right."
Singh looked at him and then at Glyn, while the rest of those assembled listened eagerly for the Colonel's next words.
"Do you remember, boys, our long stay in Colombo?"
"Yes!" they cried in a breath.
"Well, they are famous people for working in jewellery there, and I easily found a man ready to undertake the task of making a facsimile of the belt."
"Facsimile!" cried Singh, starting away from the speaker.
"Yes, my boy; and he did it beautifully--so well that I was almost startled by its exactitude and the way in which a few pieces of green glass resembled emeralds."
"But the Sanskrit inscription?" cried the Doctor.
"Exactly copied," said the Colonel; "cut in the glass. I tell you it was so well done that I was almost startled."
"Then--then--then," cried Singh wildly, "I have been deceived!" and his voice seemed to cut down that of Glyn, who was about to burst out in a triumphant "Hooray!"
"Well, yes, my boy," said the Colonel quietly. "I told you I must confess. I did deceive you in that, but with the best intentions."
A look of agony crossed the boy's face, and he turned from father to son and then back.
"Treated as a child!" he cried. "Deceived again! Oh, in whom am I to trust?"
"In me, I hope, boy," almost thundered the Colonel in the deepest tones.
"I had the trust imposed on me by your dead father to care for you and your wealth until you came of age. Should I have been acting my part had I given up to you and let you treat as a toy that valuable jewel that was almost sacred in his eyes?"
"But to--but to--Then where--where is it now?"
"Lying safely with others, sir, in the bankers' vaults."
"Oh-h-h-oh!" cried Singh, and his whole manner changed as he stood for a few moments striving for utterance yet unable to speak. But at last the words came, hoarsely and with a violent effort, as in the reaction from his fit of indignation he almost murmured, "What have I done? What have I said?"
"Nothing, my boy," said the Colonel, holding out his hands, "but what had my son been in your place I would have gladly seen him do and heard him say."
One moment Singh's face, quivering with emotion, was hidden in the Colonel's breast; the next, he rushed from the room, closely followed by Glyn.
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.
THE SORE PLACE IN THE FENCE.
Time had gone on after his good old fashion, moving silently and insidiously, seeming to crawl to those who were waiting for something, till it suddenly dawns upon them that he has been making tremendous strides with those long legs of his which puzzled the little girl who asked her mother whether it was true that Time had those means of progression. Many will remember that the mother asked the child why she supposed that Time had legs, "Because," she replied, "people speak about the lapse of Time, and if he has laps he must have legs to make them of."
The troubles connected with the disappearance of the belt, and the unpleasant weeks during which masters, scholars, and servants seemed to have been mentally poisoned by suspicion and were all disposed to look askant at each other, had passed away, and, in his busy avocations and joining in the school sports, Singh was disposed to look upon the theft of his pseudo-heirloom as something which had never happened.
"Even if it had been real, Glyn," he said one night as they lay talking across the room in the dark, and the boy had grown into a much more philosophical state of mind, "what would it have mattered?"