my eyes a little,
and moved my hand, and said, 'Done.' I wanted to add, 'you
rascal,' but that was too much for me. Larry's face of horror,
which I just caught through my half-opened eyes, would have made
me roar, if I had had strength for it. I believe the resolution I
made that he should never go about in my boots helped to pull me
through; but, as soon as Winburn came back with the doctor,
Master Larry departed, and I much doubt whether I shall ever set
eyes on him again in the flesh. Not if he can help it, certainly.
The regiment, what's left of it, is away in the Punjaub, and he
with it. Winburn, as I told you, is hard hit, but no danger. I
have great hopes that he will be invalided. You may depend upon
it he will escort me home, if any interest of mine can manage it;
and the dear old chief is so kind to me that I think he will
arrange it somehow.

"I must be wonderfully better to have spun such a yarn. Writing
those first ten lines nearly finished me, a week ago, and now I
am scarcely tired after all this scrawl. If that rascal, Larry,
escapes hanging another year, and comes back home, I will run him
_yet_, and thrash his head off.

"There is something marvelously life-giving in the idea of
sailing for old England again; and I mean to make a strong fight
for seeing you again, old boy. God bless you. Write again for the
chance, directing to my agents at Calcutta as before.

"Ever your half-alive, but whole-hearted and affectionate friend,

"H. EAST"

CHAPTER XLV

MASTER'S TERM

One more look into the old college where we have spent so much
time already, not, I hope, altogether unpleasantly. Our hero is
up in the summer term, keeping his three weeks' residence, the
necessary preliminary to an M. A. degree. We find him sitting in
Hardy's rooms; tea is over, scouts out of college, candles
lighted, and silence reigning, except when distant sounds of
mirth come from some undergraduates' rooms on the opposite side
of quad, through the open windows.

Hardy is deep in the budget of Indian letters, some of which we
have read in the last chapter; and Tom reads them over again as
his friend finishes them, and then carefully folds them up and
puts them back in their places in a large pocket-case. Except for
an occasional explanatory remark, or exclamation of interest, no
word passes until Hardy finishes the last letter. Then he breaks
out into praises of the two Harrys, which gladdens Tom's heart as
he faste