tell by the look on his face as he looked up that there was
hope--for there was life!

"He's not dead!" they heard him whisper to Mr Frampton.

Still they stood round, silent and motionless. The relief itself was
terrible. He was not dead, but would those deep-fringed eyes ever open
again?

The doctor whispered again to Mr Frampton and Mr Freshfield, and the
two passed their hands under the prostrate form to lift it. But before
they could do so the doctor, who never took his eyes off the boy's face,
held up his hand suddenly, and said "No! Better have a hurdle,"
pointing to one which lay not far off on the grass.

A dozen boys darted for it, and a dozen more laid their coats upon it to
make a bed. Once more, amid terrible suspense, they saw the helpless
form raised gently and deposited on the hurdle. A sigh of relief
escaped when the operation was over, and the sad burden, supported at
each corner by the two masters, Scarfe and Farfield, began to move
slowly towards the school.

"Slowly, and do not keep step. Above all things avoid a jolt," said the
doctor, keeping the boy's hand in his own.

The crowd opened to let them pass, and then followed in mournful
procession.

As the bearers passed on, Jeffreys, who all this time had been
forgotten, but who had never once turned his face from where Forrester
lay, stepped quickly forward as though to assist in carrying the litter.

His sudden movement, and the startling gesture that accompanied it,
disconcerted the bearers, and caused them for a moment to quicken their
step, thus imparting an unmistakable shock to the precious burden.

The doctor uttered an exclamation of vexation and ordered a halt.
"Stand back, sir!" he cried angrily, waving Jeffreys back; "a jolt like
that may be fatal!"

An authority still more potent than that of the doctor was at hand to
prevent a recurrence of the danger. Jeffreys was flung out of reach of
the litter by twenty angry hands and hounded out of the procession.

He did not attempt to rejoin it. For a moment he stood and watched it
as it passed slowly on. A cold sweat stood on his brow, and every
breath was a gasp. Then he turned slowly back to the spot where
Forrester had fallen, and threw himself on the ground in a paroxysm of
rage and misery. It was late and growing dark as he re-entered the
school. There was a strange, weird silence about the place that
contrasted startlingly with the usual evening clamour. The b