Everybody cheers, and when
they have done cheering they stamp, and when they have done stamping
they clap. Wraysford stands disconcerted and flushed with the
demonstration, at a loss whether to smile or frown. He knows the
meaning of that cheer as well as anybody, and it grates on his ear
unpleasantly as he listens. What ages it seems before it is done, and
the noble Earl at last holds out the book and says, "I have great
pleasure, Wraysford, in handing you this prize. Your schoolfellows are
all proud of you; I feel sure you deserve their good opinion. I wish
you success, Wraysford;" and so saying, the good old gentleman bobs
affably, and Wraysford, amid another tempest of applause, bows too, and
takes off his prize.

"The next name," says the Doctor, referring to his list, "is that of the
winner of the Nightingale Scholarship--(sensation)--and I may tell your
lordship that the boy is, in the opinion of his examiners and myself,
one of the most promising boys for his age that Saint Dominic's has
known. The examiners report that his answers to the questions on the
paper deserve the greatest credit. I will say only this before his
face: Nightingale Scholarship--Greenfield senior."

A solemn silence marks the close of the Doctor's speech, in the midst of
which Oliver, with pale face, but otherwise unmoved, advances to where
the noble Earl stands. A few of the strangers greet his appearance with
a clapping of hands, but the sound falls strangely on the silence all
round.

The noble Earl, who is evidently ready with a neat little speech which
shall sum the applause that never comes, is disconcerted at this
unwonted stillness. You might hear a pin fall as the old gentleman, in
dumb show, places the certificate into the boy's hand and tries to get
at the words which the silence has scared away.

Oliver waits no longer than he can help. With a bow, he takes the
parchment and turns to quit the scene.

It is at this moment, that somewhere or other in the hall, there rises a
faint, almost whispered, hiss. Slight as it is, it falls with startling
effect upon the dead silence which reigns. Then, like the first whisper
of a storm, it suddenly grows and swells and rushes, angrily and
witheringly, about the head of the wretched Oliver. Then as suddenly it
dies away into silence, and the presentation of the Nightingale
Scholarship is at an end.

The visitors, the committee, the ladies, the noble Earl, look about the