k--work!"

III.

It was about the beginning of the Michaelmas term that the very
remarkable occurrences or series of occurrences began which are the
cause and origin of this history. Many men have failed and many have
succeeded. Will Challice is, perhaps, the only man who has ever done
both, and in the same line and at the same time. The thing came upon him
quite suddenly and unexpectedly. It was at two in the morning; he had
spent the evening quietly in the society of three other men and two
packs of cards. His own rooms, he observed as he crossed the court, were
lit up--he wondered how his "gyp" could have been so careless. He opened
his door and entered his room. Heavens! At the table, on which the lamp
was burning, sat before a pile of books--himself! Challice rubbed his
eyes; he was not frightened; there is nothing to alarm a man in the
sight of himself, though sometimes a good deal to disgust; but if you
saw, in a looking-glass, your own face and figure doing _something
else_, you would be astonished: you might even be alarmed. Challice had
heard of men seeing rats, circles, triangles, even--he thought of his
misspent evenings which were by no means innocent of whisky and potash:
he concluded that this must be an Appearance, to be referred, like the
rats and circles, to strong drink. He thought that it would vanish as he
gazed.

It did not: on the contrary, it became, if anything, clearer. There was
a reading lamp on the table which threw a strong circle of light upon
the bent head of the reader. Then Will Challice began to tremble and his
knees gave way. The clock ticked on the mantel-shelf: else there was no
sound: the College was wrapped and lapped in the silence of sleep.

He nerved himself: he stepped forwards. "Speak," he cried, and the sound
of his own voice terrified him. Who ever heard of a man questioning
himself in the dead of night? "Speak--What does this mean?"

[Illustration: "WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?"]

Then the reader lifted his head, placed a book-mark to keep his place,
and turned slowly in his chair--one of those wooden chairs the seat of
which turns round. Yes--it was himself--his own face that met the face
of the returned reveller. But there was no terror in that face--a
serious resolve, rather--a set purpose--grave eyes. He, the reader,
leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs.

"Yes," he said, and the voice again startled the other man. "You have a
right--a complete right--to an e