gham, his fat, unhealthy
face all quivering with malignant passion.

"You fool!" he hissed. "You'll be sorry."

"Very likely," cried the other. "Mind what I say. It's off! I won't
hear of it!"

"You've promised, anyhow."

"Oh, I'll keep that! I won't speak. But I'd rather little Eva was in
her grave. Once for all, it's off. She'll do what I say. We don't
want to see you again."

So much Smith could not avoid hearing, but he hurried on, for he had no
wish to be involved in their dispute. There had been a serious breach
between them, that was clear enough, and Lee was going to cause the
engagement with his sister to be broken off. Smith thought of Hastie's
comparison of the toad and the dove, and was glad to think that the
matter was at an end. Bellingham's face when he was in a passion was
not pleasant to look upon. He was not a man to whom an innocent girl
could be trusted for life. As he walked, Smith wondered languidly what
could have caused the quarrel, and what the promise might be which
Bellingham had been so anxious that Monkhouse Lee should keep.

It was the day of the sculling match between Hastie and Mullins, and a
stream of men were making their way down to the banks of the Isis. A
May sun was shining brightly, and the yellow path was barred with the
black shadows of the tall elm-trees. On either side the grey colleges
lay back from the road, the hoary old mothers of minds looking out from
their high, mullioned windows at the tide of young life which swept so
merrily past them. Black-clad tutors, prim officials, pale reading
men, brown-faced, straw-hatted young athletes in white sweaters or
many-coloured blazers, all were hurrying towards the blue winding river
which curves through the Oxford meadows.

Abercrombie Smith, with the intuition of an old oarsman, chose his
position at the point where he knew that the struggle, if there were a
struggle, would come. Far off he heard the hum which announced the
start, the gathering roar of the approach, the thunder of running feet,
and the shouts of the men in the boats beneath him. A spray of
half-clad, deep-breathing runners shot past him, and craning over their
shoulders, he saw Hastie pulling a steady thirty-six, while his
opponent, with a jerky forty, was a good boat's length behind him.
Smith gave a cheer for his friend, and pulling out his watch, was
starting off again for his chambers, when he felt a touch upon his
shoulder, and f