“Not by a blamed sight!” came vehemently from the lips of the Virginian. “You are not the only one to blame! We are all to blame!” “That’s so,” said the voice of Harry Rattleton. “Merriwell was the one who originated the scheme,” said Danny Griswold. “If it hadn’t been for him----” A grating exclamation broke from Diamond’s lips. “Don’t play the coward now, Gris!” he snarled. “Shoulder your part of the blame! You are in it, just the same as the rest of us.” Then, in gloomy silence, they pulled back against the stream to the place where they had found the boat. There Browning was waiting for them. He questioned them eagerly, fearfully, but their silence was the answer he had feared. Half an hour later they were far from the spot, sitting in the back room of a certain student’s resort. Frank had emptied the water from his shoes, and now he was drying his trousers. He had drawn on his coat over his wet clothes. Very few words passed between them. Griswold was frightened, Browning was dejected, Rattleton was desperate, and Diamond was defiant. Frank seemed to be thinking deeply. After a long time, Bruce asked: “What is to be done, Merry?” “Leave everything to me,” said Frank. “We should form some sort of a story,” faltered Griswold. “We should swear the proctor broke away from us and rushed into the river himself. Of course, he could not see, for the blanket was over his head, and so he did not realize his danger. We should swear we tried to save him. We should----” “We should lie at every breath if we told anything of the sort,” said Frank. “There is but one thing to be done now.” “And that is----” “Tell the truth.” “When?” “In the morning. Leave it to me.” It was useless for Griswold to urge them to manufacture a story that would relieve them somewhat of the responsibility; not the least attention was paid to him. They left the place and started toward the college. Few words passed between them. The college grounds were reached, and they separated, each going toward his room. Frank had moved from old South Middle to Farnham Hall, doing so because he could not find accommodations in the old building for all his furniture and bric-a-brac. Now he approached Farnham with his head down. It was dark, but, as he came near, he saw some person was sitting on the steps, smoking. “Wonder who is out here at this time of night?” thought Frank. “Some fellow must have insomnia.” He reached the steps. Then the person who had been sitting there stood up and peered into his face. “Hello, Merriwell!” exclaimed a triumphant, malignant voice. “I thought it was you. Been out rather late, haven’t you?” Frank staggered as if he had been struck a heavy blow in the face. The voice was that of Digby Rudge, the proctor! CHAPTER XXXIII. JOYFUL NEWS. Frank came near shouting his astonishment. At first he scarcely could believe the evidence of his senses.