Scenes of violence were rare, even in that rude day, among that
people; the sensibilities of the children were deeply wounded, and
none of them were in a fitting condition to profit by their exercises,
which were barely gone through with, and they were early dismissed to
their homes, with the marvellous tale of the afternoon's events.
Bart was in the habit of remaining to write up the copies, and place
everything in order before he left. The young men and older maidens
lingered at the door, and then returned in a body, to say how glad
they were that it had ended as it did. They knew something would
happen, and they were so glad, and then they shook hands with him, and
went hurrying home.
When they left, Bart locked the door, and, throwing himself into
the chair by his table, laid his head down and burst into an
uncontrollable flood of tears;--but he was a man now, and tears only
choked and suffocated him. He was ashamed of himself for his weakness,
and bathing his eyes, walked about the school-room to regain his
composure. Every particle of anger left his bosom before Bingham left
the house, and now he was fully under the influence of the melancholy
part of his nature. Never before, even in childish anger, had he
touched a human being with violence, and now he had exerted his
strength, and had grappled with and struck a fellow-man in a brute
struggle for animal mastery; he felt humiliated and abased. That the
fellow's nature was low, and that he was compelled to act as he had
done, was little comfort to him.
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