few collects, and the Lord's Prayer, in which all the young
voices joined, drowning for a minute the noises from the court
outside, finished the evening's schooling. The children trooped
out, and Grey went to speak to the woman who kept the house. Tom,
left to himself, felt strangely happy, and, for something to do,
took the snuffers and commenced a crusade against a large family
of bugs, who, taking advantage of the quiet, came cruising out of
a crack in the otherwise neatly papered wall. Some dozen had
fallen on his spear when Grey reappeared, and was much horrified
at the sight. He called the woman and told her to have the hole
carefully fumigated and mended.

"I thought we had killed them all long ago," he said; "but the
place is tumbling down."

"It looks well enough," said Tom.

"Yes, we have it kept as tidy as possible. It ought to be at
least a little better than what the children see at home." And so
they left the school and court and walked up to college.

"Where are you going?" Tom said, as they entered the gate.

"To Hardy's rooms; will you come?"

"No, not to-night," said Tom; "I know that you want to be
reading; I should only interrupt."

"Well, good night, then," said Grey, and went on, leaving Tom
standing in the porch. On the way up from the school he had
almost made up his mind to go to Hardy's rooms that night. He
longed and yet feared to do so; and, on the whole, was not sorry
for an excuse. Their first meeting must be alone, and it would be
a very embarrassing one, for him at any rate. Grey, he hoped,
would tell Hardy of his visit to the school, and that would show
that he was coming round, and make the meeting easier. His talk
with Grey, too, had removed one great cause of uneasiness from
his mind. It was now quite clear that he had no suspicion of the
quarrel, and, if Hardy had not told him, no one else could know
of it.

Altogether, he strolled into the quadrangle a happier and sounder
man than he had been since his first visit to "The Choughs", and
looked up and answered with his old look and voice when he heard
his name called from one of the first-floor windows.

The hailer was Drysdale, who was leaning out in lounging coat and
velvet cap, and enjoying a cigar as usual, in the midst of the
flowers of his hanging garden.

"You've heard the good news, I suppose?"

"No, what do you mean?"

"Why, Blake has got the Latin verse."

"Hurrah! I'm so glad."

"Come up and have a weed