y getting up at half-past three, and falling asleep
at seven."

"How does he stand for the prizes?" asked Smith.

"I'm sure I can't tell you; I suppose Mortimer's sure of the first
classics and history--and he ought, for he's coming to us next half.
John's next to him."

"I hear little Mortimer's winning laurels," remarked Trevannion.

"Oh! for _him_," said Harris, a second-class boy, "because he's
been such a dunce before;--I suspect Ferrers helps him."

"Ferrers!" cried all at once, and there was a laugh--"Do you hear,
Ferrers?"

"Of course I do," replied Ferrers.

"He's not good-natured enough," remarked another.

"He needs no help," said Ferrers.

"You're sure of the mathematical prize, Ferrers; and Hamilton,
of course, gets that for Latin composition."

Ferrers did not reply--his thoughts had flown to Louis, from whom they
were now seldom absent; and, though he had been generally successful,
yet the settled gloom and anxiety of his manner led many to suppose
that he entertained fears for the issue of his examination. There were
others who imagined that there was some deeper cause of anxiety preying
on his mind, or that he was suffering from illness and fatigue--and one
or two made mysterious remarks on his intimacy with Louis, and wondered
what all foreboded.

"I wonder who'll get the medal," said one.

"Hamilton, of course," replied Smith.

"You're out there," said Frank Digby. "My magic has discovered that
either the Lady Louisa or myself will obtain it. I admire your
selfishness, young gentlemen--you assign to yourselves every thing,
and leave us out of the question. If I can't be a genius, I mean to
be a good boy."

Many bitter remarks were then made on Louis' late good behavior, and a
few upon his manner towards Ferrers, which, by some, was styled meanness
of the highest degree.

Ferrers could not endure it--he left the circle and walked about the
playground alone, full of remorse, thinking over every plan he had
formed for making amends to Louis for all. He looked up once or twice
with a gasping effort, and, oh! in the wrinkled and contracted forehead
what trouble might be read. "Oh! that it were a dream," he at last
uttered, "that I could wake and find it a warning."

There was a soft, warm hand in his, and Louis' gentle voice replied,
"Do not grieve now about me, Ferrers, it will soon be over."

Ferrers started and drew his hand away.

"You are not angry with me, are you?" said Louis