They slackened speed a little, but, happily, the pond was but a short
distance from the school. It was a circular sheet of water, perhaps a
mile in width.

"Boys, he is nearly on the other side," said Mr. Gray, as the crowd
reached the shore.

In an instant the boat was afloat. Mr. Gray, the stranger, and the six
stoutest boys in the school, stepped into it. The boys lifted their oars.
"Let fall! give way!" cried Mr. Gray, and the boat moved off, glimmering
away into the darkness.

The younger boys remained hushed and awe-stricken upon the shore. The
stars were just coming out, the wind had fallen, and the smooth, black
pond lay silent at their feet. They could see the vague, dark outline of
the opposite shore, but none of the pretty villas that stood in graceful
groves upon the banks--none of the little lawns that sloped, with a
feeling of human sympathy, to the water. The treachery of that glassy
surface was all they thought of. They shuddered to remember that they had
so often bathed in the pond, and recoiled as if they had been friends of
a murderer. None of them spoke. They clustered closely together,
listening intently. Nothing was audible but the hum of the evening
insects and the regular muffled beat of the oars over the water. The
boys strained their ears and held their breath as the sound suddenly
stopped. But they listened in vain. The lazy tree-toads sang, the
monotonous hum of the night went on.

Gabriel Bennet held the hand of Little Malacca--a dark-eyed boy, who was
supposed in the school to have had no father or mother, and who had
instinctively attached himself to Gabriel from the moment they met.