"Why
should I go on? It's no use," he thought, and threw himself at full
length on the turf, and looked vaguely and listlessly at all the
well-known objects. There were a few of the town boys playing cricket,
their wicket pitched on the best piece in the middle of the big-side
ground--a sin about equal to sacrilege in the eyes of a captain of the
eleven. He was very nearly getting up to go and send them off. "Pshaw!
they won't remember me. They've more right there than I," he muttered.
And the thought that his sceptre had departed, and his mark was wearing
out, came home to him for the first time, and bitterly enough. He was
lying on the very spot where the fights came off--where he himself had
fought six years ago his first and last battle. He conjured up the scene
till he could almost hear the shouts of the ring, and East's whisper in
his ear; and looking across the close to the Doctor's private door,
half expected to see it open, and the tall figure in cap and gown come
striding under the elm-trees towards him.
No, no; that sight could never be seen again. There was no flag flying
on the round tower; the School-house windows were all shuttered up; and
when the flag went up again, and the shutters came down, it would be
to welcome a stranger. All that was left on earth of him whom he had
honoured was lying cold and still under the chapel floor.
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