It did not
restore his lost composure to discover, in searching for his
handkerchief, that the encumbrance of the gown had made him put his
hand ten times into the same pocket, instead of five times into each,
and that in the other his manuscript lay as safe as it had been
useless.
But he took his gown off very quietly, put on his coat and forgot the
bands, bade the old sexton a gentle _good day_, and stole away home
through the streets. He had wanted to get out, and now he wanted to get
in; for he felt very much as Lady Godiva would have felt if her hair or
her heroism had proved unworthy of confidence.
Poor Murdoch had no mother and no wife; he could not go home and be
comforted. Nor was he a youth, to whom a first failure might be of
small consequence. He was five and forty, and his head was sprinkled
with grey; he was schoolmaster, and everybody knew him; he had boys
under him. As he walked along the deserted streets, he felt that he was
running the gauntlet of scorn; but every one who saw him coming along
with his head sunk on his bosom, drew back from the window till he had
gone by. Returning to the window to look after him, they saw, about
twenty yards behind him, a solitary little figure, with the tears
running down its face, stumping slowly step by step, and keeping the
same distance, after the dejected master.
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