life,
and attributed Heathcote's uncommunicativeness either to shame for some
discreditable proceeding, or else to passing ill-humour. In either case
he reckoned on knowing all about it before long.

Heathcote was very uncomfortable. It had not occurred to him till just
now that Pledge would resent the return of his allegiance to Dick as an
act of insubordination. Not that that would keep him from Dick; but
Heathcote, who had hitherto admired his old patron as a friend, by no
means relished the idea of having him an enemy. He therefore felt that
the best thing he could do was to hold his tongue, and if, after all, a
row was to come, well--it would have to come.

He sat down to do his own preparation, and for half an hour neither
student broke the silence.

Then Pledge, who had never known his _protege_ silent for so long
together before, felt there must be something the matter which he ought
to be aware of.

So he leaned back in his chair and stretched himself.

"You're a nice boy, George!" said he, laughing; "you've been sitting
half an hour with your pen in your hand and haven't written a word."

Georgie coloured up.

"It's a stiff bit of prose," said he.

"So it seems. Suppose I do it for you?"

"No, thanks, Pledge," said the boy, who, without having any particular
horror of having his lessons done for him, did not like just now, when
he was conscious of having revolted against his senior, to accept
favours from him.

"No? It's true, then, Georgie is joining the elect and going to take
holy orders?"

"No, I'm not," said Georgie.

"Then Georgie is trying to be funny and not succeeding," said the
monitor, drily, returning to his own books.

Another silent quarter of an hour passed, and then the first bed bell
rang.

"Good-night," said Heathcote, gathering together his books.

"Good-night, dear boy!" said Pledge, with the red spots coming out on
his cheeks; "come down with me to the 'Tub' in the morning."

"I'm going down with another fellow," said Georgie, feeling his heart
bumping in his chest.

"Oh!" said the monitor, indifferently; "with a _very_ dear friend?--the
saintly Dick, for instance?"

"Yes," said Heathcote, and left the room.

Pledge sat motionless, watching the closed door for a full minute, and,
as he did so, an ugly look crept over his face, which it was well for
Heathcote he did not see. Then he turned mechanically to his books, and
buried himself in them for the rest of