ment,
and may last for almost any length of time, Kennedy, vexed at the
interruption of his work, chose the most comfortable armchair in the
room, and settled himself in it with a yawn.

At this moment, as ill fate would have it, his eye caught sight of a
book lying on Mr Grayson's reading-desk. Lazily rising to see what it
was, he found it to be an Aeschylus, and turned over the leaves with a
feeling of listless indifference. Between two of the leaves lay a
written paper, and suddenly, after reading two or three lines, he
observed it to be a manuscript copy of the much-dreaded Agamemnon paper
for the May examination.

Temptation had surprised him with sudden and unexpected violence. He
little knew that on this idle weary moment rested the destiny of many
years.

As when in a hostile country one has laid aside his armour, and from
unregarded ambush the enemy leaps on him, and, though he be strong and
noble, stabs him with a festering wound, so this temptation to a base
act sprang on poor Kennedy when he was unarmed and unprepared. In the
gaieties of life, and the brightnesses of hope, and the securities of
unbroken enjoyment, he had long been trusting in himself only, in his
own high principle, his own generous impulses, his own unstained honour.
But these were never sufficient for any human being yet, and they
snapped in an instant under this unhappy boy.

The only honourable thing to do, the thing which at another moment
Kennedy might have done, and which any man would have done, whose right
instincts and high character had the reliable support of higher
principles than mere personal self-confidence and pride, would have been
to shut the book instantly, inform Mr Grayson that he had accidentally
read one of the questions, and beg him to change it before the
examination. This Kennedy knew well; it flashed before him in an
instant as the only proper course but at the same instant he
passionately obliterated the suggestion from his mind, fiercely stifled
the impulse to do right, choked the rebukes of honour and principle, and
blindly willed to save his reputation as a scholar, and his chance of
enjoyment for the vacation by reading through the entire number of the
questions. This mental struggle did not last an instant, for the
emotions of the spirit belong only to eternity, and the guilt of human
actions is not commensurate with the length of time they occupy. But in
the intense wish to see what the examinat