d himself a coward last term. He was a coward
when he did a mean act this term.

What wonder, in these circumstances, if the Fifth felt sore, very sore
indeed, on the subject of Oliver Greenfield?

To every one's relief, he did not put in an appearance again that day.
He kept his study, and Paul brought down word at prayer time that he had
a headache and had gone to bed.

At this the Fifth smiled grimly and said nothing.

Next morning, however, Oliver turned up as usual in his place. He
looked pale, but otherwise unconcerned, and those who looked-for traces
of shame and self-abasement in his face were sorely disappointed.

He surely must have known or guessed the resolution the Fifth had come
to with regard to him; but from his unabashed manner he was evidently
determined not to take it for granted till the hint should be given
pretty clearly.

On Ricketts, whose desk was next to that of Oliver, fell the task of
first giving this hint.

"How did you get on yesterday in the English Literature?" asked Oliver.

Ricketts' only answer was to turn his back and begin to talk to his
other neighbour.

Those who were watching this incident noticed a sudden flush on Oliver's
cheek as he stared for an instant at his late friend. Then with an
effort he seemed to recover himself.

He did not, however, attempt any further conversation either with
Ricketts or his other neighbour, Braddy, who in a most marked manner had
moved as far as possible away from him. On the contrary, he coolly
availed himself of the extra room on the desk and busied himself
silently with the lessons for the day.

But he now and then looked furtively up in the direction of Wraysford,
who was seated at an opposite desk. The eyes of the two friends met now
and then, and when they did each seemed greatly embarrassed. For
Wraysford, after a night's heart-searching, had come to the
determination not, after all, to cut his friend; and yet he found it
impossible to feel and behave towards him as formerly. He tried very
hard indeed not to appear constrained, but the more he tried the more
embarrassed he felt. After class he purposely walked across the room to
meet his old chum.

"How are you?" he said, in a forced tone and manner utterly unlike his
old self.

It was a ridiculous and feeble remark to make, and it would have been
far better had he said nothing. Oliver stared at him for a moment in a
perplexed way, and then, without answering the