ranks of the
poachers last night, at least in intention, I feel bound to resist any
attacks on their humanity.

"But, as a matter of fact, I believe that they do show fight for their
spoil and their liberty when they find themselves surprised. Shots are
exchanged and mischief happens sometimes. But my poor little air-gun
would not be a very formidable weapon in a row, I expect. Its
peppercorn bullets are good for a rabbit or pheasant, but would hardly
disable a man. The gamekeeper with his double-barrel would have a good
deal the best of it. But, I say, my cold has not taken away my
appetite. Let us get in to breakfast, and hang poaching."

CHAPTER TEN.

THE FATES ARE DOWN UPON BULLER.

Tom Buller had finished his breakfast, and was ruefully preparing his
lesson in his room, when he heard his name being called up the
staircase. "Buller! I say, Buller!"

"Well, what's the row?" he asked, opening his door with a sinking heart.
The voice of the caller sounded singularly harsh and discordant, he
thought.

"Oh, Buller! the doctor wants to see you in his study."

"All right!" replied Buller; "I will come at once."

But though his mouth said "All right," his mind meant "All wrong." He
had entertained the absurd hope, though he hardly admitted the fact to
himself, that Mr Rabbits, with whom he was rather a favourite, would
not report him, forgetting, or not realising, the great responsibility
which Mr Rabbits would incur by failing to do so. Well, he would know
the worst soon now at any rate, that was one consolation, for there is
nothing so bad as suspense, as the man said who was going to be hanged.

Dr Jolliffe's study was in a retired part of the house, not often
visited by the boys. Here the uproar of their voices, and their noisy
tread as they rushed up and down the uncarpeted staircases, could not be
heard. Here thick curtains hung before the doors, which were of some
beautifully grained wood (or painted to look like it), and gilded round
the panels. Thick carpets lined the passages, rich paper covered the
walls; all the surroundings were in violent contrast to the outer house
given up to the pupils, and gained an exaggerated appearance of luxury
in consequence.

Buller, with his heart somewhere about his boots, tapped at the awful
door.

"Come in!" was uttered in the dreamy tones of one whose mind was
absorbed in some occupation, and who answered instinctively, without
disturbance of his