Williams's letter enclosed--or rather part of it, for Browne had kept one sheet--was as follows, though my head was swimming so much at the time that I could scarcely take it all in. "The fellows here haven't forgotten you, and they're showing it in a pretty decided way at present. About three weeks ago we discovered that Smither, who called himself your friend, was the sneak who went to Draven the morning you were expelled, and let out about you. He was seen coming from D.'s study early, and young Wright, who happened to be in the next room, heard him speaking about you. Well, we've boycotted him. Not a fellow is allowed to speak to him, or notice him, or go near him. Everybody's been bound over, and unless some one plays traitor, the place will get too hot for him before the term's up. And serve him right too. Harrison and I--" Here the letter broke off. I felt stunned; and, strange to say, the sudden discovery left me as miserable as it found me. I suppose I was ill; but for a short time my passion got the upper hand, and made it worse for me than if I had never known the truth. But it didn't last long. There came a knock at the door, and, without waiting for an invitation, Harrison came into the room, looking so miserable and scared that I scarcely recognised him for a moment. He was evidently prepared for any sort of rebuff, and I despised myself far more than him as I heard the half-frightened voice in which he began. "Smither, old man--" He got no farther; or at least I did not hear any more. It seemed like a dream after that. I was dimly conscious of his hand on my arm and then round me. The next thing I was aware of was that I was lying in bed, with him sitting beside me sponging my forehead. "Has the bed-bell rung?" I asked. "My dear fellow, you've been in bed a fortnight," said he, bending over me; "but you mustn't talk now." After awhile I asked again-- "Why are you here, then?" for the term had had only three days to run when I had been taken ill. "We couldn't go, old man. The fellows begged Draven to let them stay till you were out of danger, and he did. They're all here. This is Christmas Day, and they will be glad to hear you are better. But really you mustn't talk, please." "Tell the fellows to go home, then," I said, "and wish them a Merry Christmas, and say--" "Really, old man," pleaded Harrison, looking quite frightened, "don't talk." That was the quietest, but not the least hopeful Christmas Day I ever spent. And when Draven's met again next term, I fancy most of us had got by heart the good Christmas motto, "Goodwill to men," and were mutually agreed that, whatever manly and noble sports we should engage in during the year, boycotting should not be one of them. CHAPTER TWO. A TRUE STORY IN TWO CHAPTERS. Sub-Chapter I. THE STORY.