useless, and spite of will, the burning crimson of an uncontrollable
shame burst and flashed over Kennedy's usually clear and open face. It
was no ordinary blush--no common passage of colour over the cheeks.
Over face, and neck, and brow the guilty blood seemed to be crowding
tumultuously, and when it had filled every vein and fibre till it
swelled, then the rich scarlet seemed to linger there as though it would
never die away again, and if for an instant it began to fade, then the
hidden thought sent new waves of hot agony in fresh pulses to supply its
place. And all the while the conscious victim made matters worse by his
attempts to seem unconcerned, until his forehead was wet with heavy
perspiration. By that time the men had turned to other topics, and were
talking about Bruce's laziness, and the utter manner in which he must
have fallen off for his name to appear, as it had done, in the second
class; and, in course of time, Kennedy's face was as pale and cold as it
before had burned and glowed.

And all this while, though he would not look--though he looked at his
plate, and at the busts over his head, and the long portraits of Saint
Werner's worthies on the walls, and on this side and on that--Kennedy
knew full well that Brogten's eye had been on him from beginning to end,
and that Brogten was enjoying, with devilish malignity, the sense of
power which he had gained from the knowledge of another's sin. The
thought was intolerable to him, and, finishing his dinner with hasty
gulps, he left the hall.

"Brogten, how rude you were to Kennedy," said Lillyston.

"Was I?" said Brogten, in a tone of sarcasm and defiance.

"No wonder he blushed at your coarse insinuations."

"No wonder," said Brogten, in the same tone; "am I the only person who
makes coarse insinuations, as you call them?"

"It is just like you to do so."

"Is it? Oh well, I shall have to make some more, perhaps, before I have
done."

"Well, you'd better look out what you say to Kennedy, at any rate. He
is a fiery subject."

"Thank you, I will."

This wrangling was very unprofitable, and Lillyston gladly dropped it,
not however without feeling somewhat puzzled at the air which Brogten
assumed.

That night Kennedy was sitting miserably in his room alone; he had
refused all invitations, and had asked nobody to take tea with him. He
was just making tea for himself, when Brogten came to see him.

"May I stay to tea?" he asked, in mock hu