The time was near at hand when the classes were to face the dread ordeal of examination, and the cadets were busy “boning” at every chance they got. There was a certain reserve force in Mark Merrill which caused his rivals to fear him. He had never been boastful about his strength and powers as an athlete, yet when put to the test he easily took first place. He had told no tales of the superb power he possessed as a swimmer, and yet when matched in a race showed what he could do. It was the same in a boat race, for though he had a fine, strong stroke, he only drew upon his hidden powers when victory demanded it. In his class he stood well in his studies, always knew his lessons, no more; but would he not surprise all when it came to the tug of war? At last the time came round for this much mooted question to be answered, and when the honor man of the fourth class was called upon to come to the front, his name was Mark Merrill. “I told you so! it was honors easy for Merrill,” Byrd Bascomb had muttered to Nazro, who whispered: “Look at Clemmons.” Opposite the name of Scott Clemmons stood “Number Two;” but the look upon his face was such as a man might wear who had dropped from hope to despair. CHAPTER XXXIV. A LETTER FROM HOME. Mark Merrill had passed his first year in his fight for fame, and he had won against every obstacle placed in his path. The humble fisher lad, “entered at large for gallant services rendered,” but coming from the rock-bound coast of Maine, the nursery of hero sailors, as is, in fact, the whole coast of New England, had cast his anchor to windward and thus kept himself off the breakers. It had held firm, and he had been landed as the master mind of his class. Thanks to a splendid physique he had passed the surgeon, and his gratitude went out whole-souled to his noble mother, because her teachings had enabled him to know sufficient of books to enter upon his career as a cadet. Thanks to his splendid training as a sailor, a fisher lad, and mail-carrier in the roughest weather, he had the constitution, training and endurance to face every hardship, and thus had won victory in sports as well as in the study hall. He possessed a soul too proud to fail after what the Honorable Secretary of the Navy had done for him, and the encouragement given him by Commodore Lucien. To that officer he had written, returning the money he had paid for his “outfit,” and received a kind, encouraging letter in return. Though confident that the commandant, and other officers of the academy, were his firm friends, he had been most cautious never to abuse that friendship. He had fought his way unaided, and he believed that he had won the respect and friendship of his comrades, or most of them, against every slur cast upon him, every innuendo, every prophecy of failure.