hat is to say, until
Mrs. Stimcoe returned with the doctor safely tucked under her wing.

At sight of me seated in charge of the patient, Dr. Spargo--a mild
little man--lifted his eyebrows.

"Surely, madam--" he began in a scandalized tone.

"This is Harry Brooks." Mrs. Stimcoe introduced me loftily.
"If you wish him to retire, be kind enough to say so, and have done
with it. Our boarders, I may say, have the run of the house--it is
part of Mr. Stimcoe's system. But Harry has too much delicacy to
remain where he feels himself _de trop_. Harry, you have my leave to
withdraw."

I obeyed, aware that the doctor--who had pushed his spectacles high
upon his forehead--was following my retreat with bewildered gaze.
As I expected, no sooner had I regained the dormitory than my
fellow-boarders--forgetting their sore heads, or, at any rate,
forgiving--began to pester me with a hundred questions. I had to
repeat the punishment on Doggy Bates before they suffered me to lie
down in quiet.

But the interlude, in itself discomposing, had composed my nerves for
the while. I expected no sleep; had, indeed, an hour ago, deemed it
impossible I should sleep that night. Yet, in fact, my head was
scarcely on the pillow before I slept, and slept like a top.

The town clock awoke me, striking four. To the far louder sound of
Scotty Maclean's snoring, in the bed next to mine, I was
case-hardened. I lay for a second or two counting the strokes, then
sprang out of bed, and, running to the window, drew wide the curtain.
The world was awake, the sun already clear above the hills over St.
Just pool, and all the harbour twinkling with its rays. My eyes
searched the stretch of water between me and St. Mawes, as though for
flotsam--anything to give me news, or a hint of news. For many
minutes I stood staring--needless to say, in vain--and so, the
morning being chilly, crept back to bed with the shivers on me.

Two hours later, in the midst of my dressing, I looked out of the
window again, and I saw the St. Mawes packet reaching across towards
Falmouth merrily, quite as if nothing had happened. Yet something--
I told myself--_must_ have happened.

The Copenhagen Academy enjoyed a holiday that day, for Captain
Branscome failed to present himself, and Mr. Stimcoe lay under the
influence of sedatives. At eleven in the morning he awoke, and began
to discuss the character of Talleyrand at the pitch of his voice.
Its echoes reached me wh