hey are saying?"

"I don't know or care," came the swift answer. "As for my honour, it can
very well take care of itself."

"Like it did at the sand-pits," put in Parfitt, amid an outburst of
laughter.

Paul bit his lip to keep back the angry words that sprang to his tongue.
And the gibe went again as a poisoned shaft to the wound that was lying
as a canker in the breast of Stanley.

"Well, we'll leave your honour out of it, if you don't care to stick up
for it. But there's the honour of the school, and do you know what
they're saying? They're saying that the flag business was all a
dodge--that it's been engineered between you and the Beetle you would
not stand up to in the sand-pits!"

"Engineered! How do you mean?" demanded Paul, staggered by this fresh
accusation.

"That it was all arranged between you and the Beetle."

"I--I can't quite see. I don't understand. Do you mean----"

"Let him have it straight; so that he can't wriggle out of it!"
exclaimed Newall, as Paul paused, unable to get out the words that came
as a torrent to the lips.

"I mean that the theft of the flag was arranged between you and that
fellow at St. Bede's; and that it's come back again by the same clever
piece of trickery."

"Is that what they're saying?" demanded Paul.

"That's what they're saying."

"And--and--what do you say, Stan?" The name came out in a gulp.

Had Stanley only followed his better impulse, he would have answered:

"I don't believe it. Though appearances are against you, I cannot
believe it. I still have faith in you, as I used to have. We have
wandered apart, but Garside has never been what it was since we ceased
to speak. I have been unhappy--miserable."

But the gibes of Newall and Parfitt were still rankling in his breast.
He seemed to feel again the blows of Wyndham on his face. So instead of
answering as his better nature dictated, he replied:

"I stand by the Form. I say the same."

"Then it's a lie--a dirty lie. Let me pass."

Paul was choking. It would not so much have mattered what his Form said.
He could trust to time to bring them round again; but that Stanley could
have believed him guilty of such mean, despicable trickery--there was
the sting. Stanley had felt the blows of Wyndham on his face, but that
was as nothing to the torture endured at that moment by Paul. It was as
a flail cutting deep down into his very flesh.

Stanley still barred the way to the door, and did not move.

"Let