If a thunderbolt had suddenly fallen before Kennedy's feet and cloven its sulphurous passage into the abyss, he could hardly have been more startled or more alarmed. Without a word he sat down half stupefied. Was any one else in the inner room? For very shame he dare not look. Had Brogten seen him? If so, would he at once tell Mr Grayson? What would be done in that case? Dare he deny the fact? Passionately he spurned the hateful suggestion. Would Brogten tell all the Saint Werner's men? Brogten of all others, whom he had publicly insulted and branded with dishonour! Ah me, there is no anguish so keen, so _deadly_, as the anguish of awakened shame! With unspeakable anxiety Kennedy awaited Brogten's departure. Why should he be so long? Surely he must be telling Mr Grayson. At last the heavy step was heard, the door opened, and the gyp once more announced that Mr Grayson was disengaged. Pale and almost breathless, Kennedy went into the room. "Good morning, Mr Kennedy." "Good morning, sir." He quite expected that Mr Grayson was about at once to address him on the subject of the paper, and, expecting this, totally forgot the purpose for which he had come. The tutor's cold eye was upon him, and after a pause he said-- "Well, Mr Kennedy?" "Well, sir?" he replied, with a start. "Do you want anything?" "Oh, I came for--Really, sir, I must beg your pardon, but I have forgotten what it was." "To look at an examination-paper," were the words which, in his embarrassment, sprang to his lips, but he checked them just in time. "Really, Mr Kennedy, you appear to be strangely absent this morning," said Mr Grayson, in a tone the reverse of encouraging. "Oh, I remember now," he replied, desperately; "it was a library order I wanted." Mr Grayson wrote him the order. Kennedy took it, and, without even shaking the cold hand which the tutor proffered, hurried out of the room, relieved at least by the conviction that Brogten, if he had seen him look at the paper, had not, as yet at any rate, revealed it to the examiner. "After all," he reflected, "he was hardly likely to do that. But had he told the men?" Kennedy did not go to the library; he could not bear to meet anybody, and hastened to bury himself in his own rooms. His walk, usually so erect and gay as he went across the court--the tune he used to hum so merrily in the sunshine--and the bright open glance of recognition with which he passed his acquaintances and friends, were gone to-day. He shuffled silently along the cloisters with downcast eyes. Hall-time would be the time to know whether Brogten had seen him and betrayed him. And if he had seen him, surely there could be no doubt he would tell of him. What a sweet revenge it would be for that malicious heart! How completely it would turn the tables on Kennedy for the day when he had sarcastically alluded to Brogten's bets! How amply it would fulfil the promise of which that parting scowl of hatred had been full.