ast reason in all Saint Dominic's to like
him, was strange indeed.

"Wray," said Oliver, abruptly, after another pause, during which he had
evidently made up his mind, "have you any money about you?"

"I've three pounds," said Wraysford, taking out his purse.

Oliver went to his desk and took from it a five-pound note which was
there, his savings for the last year. This, with Wraysford's three
sovereigns, he handed without a word to Loman. Then, not waiting to
hear the thanks which the wretched boy tried to utter, he took
Wraysford's arm and walked out of the study.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

THE "DOMINICAN" COMES ROUND.

The Fifth were a good while coming round on the question of Greenfield
senior. But the delay was more on account of pride than because they
still considered their old class-fellow a knave. They had taken up such
a grand position last term, and talked so magnificently about honour,
and morality, and the credit of the school, that it was a sad come-down
now to have to admit they had all been wrong, and still more that they
had all been fools. And yet, after what had happened, they could no
longer retain their suspicions of Oliver Greenfield.

A few of the better sort, like Pembury and Bullinger, had the courage,
at whatever cost, to act up to their convictions, and declared at once
that they had been wrong, and were ashamed of it.

The next step was to approach Oliver, and that was more difficult, for
he was such a queer fellow there was no knowing where to have him.
However, Pembury's wit helped him over the difficulty as usual.

He was hobbling down the passage one morning when he suddenly
encountered Oliver and Wraysford, arm-in-arm, approaching him. If at
any time in his life Pembury did feel uncomfortable and awkward he felt
it now. If he let Oliver go by this time without making it up somehow,
the chance might never come again; but how to set about it, that was the
difficulty, and every half-second brought the two nearer. Twenty
different ideas flashed through his mind. He was not the sort of fellow
to go to any one and eat humble-pie straight off. That was far too tame
a proceeding. No, there was only one way he could think of, and he
would chance that.

"Noll, old man," said he, in the old familiar tones, "you've got a spare
arm. May I take it?"

Oliver stopped short and looked at him for an instant in astonishment.
Next moment, with a hearty "Rather!" he slipped his arm i