ght to the fire, and stood staring into it with
lack-lustre eye, too apathetic even to be hopeless, for the work of
enlightening the Doctor seemed more terrible and impossible than ever,
and he began to see that, if the only way of escape lay there, he had
better make up his mind with what philosophy he could to adapt himself
to his altered circumstances, and stay on for the rest of the term.

But the prospect was so doleful and so blank, that he drew a heavy sigh
as he thought of it. Mr. Blinkhorn heard it, and rose awkwardly from the
rickety little writing-table, knocking over a pile of marble-covered
copy-books as he did so.

Then he crossed over to Paul and laid a hand gently on his shoulder.
"Look here," he said: "why don't you confide in me? Do you think I'm
blind to what has happened to you? I can see the change in you--if
others cannot. Why not trust me?"

Mr. Bultitude looked up into his face, which had an honest interest and
kindliness in it, and his heart warmed with a faint hope. If this young
man had been shrewd enough to guess at his unhappy secret, might he not
be willing to intercede with the Doctor for him? He looked
good-natured--he would trust him.

"Do you mean to say really," he asked, with more cordiality than he had
spoken for a long time, "that you--see--the--a--the difference?"

"I saw it almost directly," said Mr. Blinkhorn, with mild triumph.

"That's the most extraordinary thing," said Paul, "and yet it ought to
be evident enough, to be sure. But no, you can't have guessed the real
state of things!"

"Listen, and stop me if I'm wrong. Within the last few days a great
change has been at work within you. You are not the idle, thoughtless,
mischievous boy who left here for his holidays----"

"No," said Paul, "I'll swear I'm not!"

"There is no occasion for such strong expressions. But, at all events,
you come back here an altogether different being. Am I right in saying
so?"

"Perfectly," said Paul, overjoyed at being so thoroughly understood,
"perfectly. You're a very intelligent young man, sir. Shake hands. Why,
I shouldn't be surprised, after that, if you knew how it all happened?"

"That too," said Mr. Blinkhorn smiling, "I can guess. It arose, I doubt
not, in a wish?"

"Yes," cried Paul, "you've hit it again. You're a conjurer, sir, by Gad
you are!"

"Don't say 'by Gad,' Bultitude; it's inconsistent. It began, I was
saying, in a wish, half unconscious perhaps, to be somethin