At last he managed to wrench his eyes away and stood up, and strode over to the window and looked out upon the white world. He saw two sparrows poise an instant on the crest of a drift. "Well, Mr. Catherwood----" The voice again. He turned slowly. His face was pale beneath the disfiguring streaks and stripes of brown. "I--I--I confess, sir--I confess." He flung himself into the chair at the end of the desk and covering his poor face with his two hands, sobbed aloud. The president waited for the paroxysm to pass. "Why did you do it, Mr. Catherwood?" he asked, quietly. "I--I--was afraid of that history examination." The reply came faint. Turning his face away, he stood up. He groped for his hat. "But wait a moment, Mr. Catherwood." Shame-faced the impostor turned, his hand upon the knob of the door. "You have, I believe, neither credit nor condition in that course. Professor Lowe was at a loss which to give you; and awaited my return. Ah, sit down, Mr. Catherwood." He obeyed, meekly. He fumbled his cap. "Ah, Mr. Catherwood." The voice still was calm and even. "Yes, sir," Catherwood murmured without changing his position. "Mr. Catherwood, this is a delicate case--I may say a most delicate case. It is unique in my experience. Indeed I believe it is _absolutely_ unique. Moreover, honesty compels me to say that it was most ingeniously managed--_most_ ingeniously." The president coughed and raised his hand to his lips. Catherwood looked up an instant and then away again. "Now, Mr. Catherwood," the president went on in the same dispassionate tone, "let us look first at the case from your point of view. You were zealous to pass your history course, ahem, too zealous, perhaps. However, be that as it may. And I am right, am I not, when I infer that your zeal, your desire in the matter, is still unabated?" Catherwood nodded, slightly. "Ah, I thought so. So be it. It is your zeal, then, that induces a certain definite longing for the credit in that course? Am I right?" "Yes, sir." Weakly. "Ah, yes. But, Mr. Catherwood, there is that beside our zeal to which we must listen. There is our conscience." Catherwood shifted uneasily. "Consult _your_ conscience, Mr. Catherwood. Shall I tell you what it whispers? Very well. It bids you ask for a condition--a condition, Mr. Catherwood." "Give it me, doctor; give it me." The suddenness, the eagerness of the request caused the president to raise his eyebrows. The pale ghost of a smile lingered an instant about his lips. He held out a restraining hand. "Just a moment, Mr. Catherwood," he said. "There is another point of view. Mine." Catherwood had sunk back into his previous attitude of dejection.