eat some of this dinner, Master Evson, and
leave off cryin' so; cryin's no comfort, sir."

He stood by and waited on Walter with the greatest kindness and respect,
till he had seen him swallow some food, not without difficulty, and then
with encouraging and cheerful words left him, and once more locked the
door.

The weary afternoon wore on, and Walter sat mournfully alone with
nothing but miserable thoughts--miserable to whatever subject he turned
them, and more miserable the longer he dwelt on them. As the shades of
evening drew in he felt his head swimming, and the long solitude made
him feel afraid as he wondered whether they would leave him there all
night. And then he heard a light step approach the door, and a gentle
tap. He made no answer, for he thought he knew the step, and he could
not summon up voice to speak for a fit of sobbing which it brought on.
Then he heard the boy stoop down, and push a note under the door.

He took it up when he heard the footsteps die away, and by the fast
failing light was just able to make it out. It ran thus--

"Dear Walter,--You can't think how sorry, how very, very sorry I am
for you. I wish I could be with you and take part of your punishment.
Forgive me for being cold and proud to you. I have been longing to
speak to you all the time, but felt too shy. It was all my fault. I
will never break with you again. Good-bye, dear Walter, from your
ever and truly affectionate, Harry Kenrick."

"He will never break with me again," thought Walter. "If I'm to go
to-morrow I'm afraid he'll never have the chance." And then his saddest
thoughts reverted to the home which he had left so recently for the
first time, and to which he was to return with nothing but dishonour and
disgrace.

At six o'clock the kind-hearted Famulus brought him a lamp, some tea,
and one or two books, which he had no heart to read. No one was allowed
to visit the private room under heavy penalties, so that Walter had no
other visitor until eight, when Somers, the monitor who had taken him to
Dr Lane, looked in and icily observed, "You're to sleep in the
sickroom, Evson; come with me."

"Am I expelled, Somers?" he faltered out.

"I don't know," said Somers in a freezing tone; "you deserve to be."

True! oh lofty and pitiless Somers. But is that all which you could
find to say to the poor boy in his distress? And if we _all_ had our
deserts...?

"At any rate," Somers added, "I fo