er of its students steadily
increased, and their successes in the field of examination had been
noteworthy beyond precedent. Truly, the heart of their founder, to whom
honour had this day been rendered, must have gladdened if he could but
have listened to the story of dignified progress! Applause, loud and
long, greeted the close of the address. Buckland Warricombe was
probably the only collegian who disdained to manifest approval in any
way.

'Why don't you clap?' asked his sister, who, girl-like, was excited to
warmth of cheek and brightness of eye by the enthusiasm about her.

'That kind of thing is out of date,' replied the young man, thrusting
his hands deep into his pockets.

As Professor of Logic and Moral Philosophy, Dr Nares began the
distribution of prizes. Buckland, in spite of his resolve to exhibit no
weakness, waited with unmistakable tremor for the announcement of the
leading name, which might possibly be his own. A few words of comment
prefaced the declaration:--never had it been the Professor's lot to
review more admirable papers than those to which he had awarded the
first prize. The name of the student called upon to come forward
was--Godwin Peak.

'Beaten!' escaped from Buckland's lips.

Mrs. Warricombe glanced at her son with smiling sympathy; Sidwell,
whose cheek had paled as her nerves quivered under the stress of
expectancy, murmured a syllable of disappointment; Mr. Warricombe set
his brows and did not venture to look aside. A moment, and all eyes
were directed upon the successful student, who rose from a seat
half-way down the hall and descended the middle passage towards the row
of Professors. He was a young man of spare figure and unhealthy
complexion, his age not easily conjectured. Embarrassment no doubt
accounted for much of the awkwardness of his demeanour; but, under any
circumstances, he must have appeared ungainly, for his long arms and
legs had outgrown their garments, which were no fashionable specimens
of tailoring. The nervous gravity of his countenance had a peculiar
sternness; one might have imagined that he was fortifying his
self-control with scorn of the elegantly clad people through whom he
passed. Amid plaudits, he received from the hands of the Principal a
couple of solid volumes, probably some standard work of philosophy,
and, thus burdened, returned with hurried step to his place.

'No one expected that,' remarked Buckland to his father. 'He must have
crammed furi