the applause was great, and Kitty's
eyes shone, although she dared not meet anyone, for it was part of the
code of honor amongst the three girls that the judges should not guess
who had written each individual essay.

Then at last it came to be Florence's turn. Florence had copied Bertha
Keys' paper, scarcely taking in its meaning. She had copied it in hot
haste, with hot rage, defiance, determination in her heart. She
scarcely knew herself what the words meant, she had not taken in their
true significance. The essay was a little longer than the others, and
began in quite a different way.

Sir John paused for a moment, glanced down the page, then adjusted his
glasses, drew himself up very erect and began to read. He had not read
one sentence before he perceived that he had now quite different metal
to deal with. Although disappointment stormed at his heart, he was too
true a gentleman and too brave a soldier to allow such a feeling to
influence him even for a moment. Yes, he would do the spirited words
with which he had now to deal every justice. So he read on, the fire
in the paper communicating itself to him, and the guests who listened
soon forgot all about the Scholarship and all about the three young
candidates. They were interested in the words themselves; the words
rang out; they were not remarkable so much for the heart element as for
the strong, proud, intellectual touch.

The essay was rich in metaphor and still richer in quotation. From the
Greeks, from the Romans, from the English, from America, from
Australia, from all parts of the globe did the young writer cull
incident and quotation. She used a brief and telling argument, and she
brought it to a successful and logical conclusion. Finally she quoted
some words from Tennyson, aptly and splendidly chosen, and when Sir
John's voice ceased the entire hall rose up in a body and cheers and
acclamations ascended to the roof.

Florence's face was white as death.

Sir John laid down the paper.

"We will now," he said, turning to his fellow-judges, "retire for a few
moments to decide on the winner of the Scholarship."

Sir John and the other judges immediately left the hall, and the girls,
still standing in that strained and painful position, waited with
lowered eyes for the result. Amongst the three, however, all doubt was
over. Mary Bateman knew that her poor and lame words had not the
slightest chance. Kitty would not have taken the Schol