most to run over in
his mind the sort of letter he would write, and the kind of things he
would say. Leaning over his window-sill, he enjoyed the cool feeling of
the early spring breeze on his brow and hair, and then, finding by his
watch that it was time to start, he took his cap and gown, and prepared
to sally out to the senate-house.

It was the custom of the gyp, when he had laid breakfast, and put the
kettle on the fire, to go away and "sport the oak," (_i e_, shut the
outer door), so as to prevent any one from coming into the rooms until
their owner was awake and dressed. Julian therefore was not surprised
to see his door "sported," but was surprised to find that, when he
lifted the latch, the door did not open to his touch. He pushed it with
some force, and then kicked it with his foot to see if some stone or
coal had not caught against it, but the door still remained obstinately
closed; he put his shoulder against it, fancying that some heavy weight
like the coal-box or water-pitcher might have been placed outside,--but
all in vain; the thick door did not even stir, and then there flashed
upon Julian the bitter truth that he had been screwed in. He understood
now the stifled titter which he fancied he had heard after one of his
most violent efforts to get out.

In one instant, before he had time to think, a fit of blind, passionate,
uncontrollable fury had clouded and overpowered Julian's whole mind.
Almost unconscious of what he was doing, he kicked the door with all his
might, and beat on it savagely with his clenched fists until his
knuckles streamed with blood; he forgot everything but the one burning
determination to get out at all hazards, and to wreak on Brogten, whom
he felt to be the author of his calamity, some desperate and terrible
revenge. But the thick oak door, screwed evidently with much care; and
in many places, resisted all his efforts, and no one came to help him
from outside. The gyp, who was usually about, happened to have gone on
an errand; the stair-case was one of the most secluded in the college;
the Fellow who was Julian's nearest neighbour had "gone down" for a few
days, and it was improbable that any one ever heard him except Brogten,
to whom, he thought, every sound of his angry violence would be perfect
music.

All was useless, and Julian, as he strode up and down the room, clenched
his hands, and bit his lips in passionate excitement. Suddenly it
struck him that he would