"What caused him to fall in the choir?" continued Mrs. Beauclerc. "Giddiness?" "It was not like giddiness," remarked Mr. St. John. "It was as if he fell over something." "So I thought," interrupted Georgina. "Why did you leave your seat to follow him?" she continued, in a low tone to Mr. St. John, falling behind her mother. "It was a sudden impulse, I suppose. I was unpleasantly struck with his appearance as I went into college. He was looking ghastly." "The choristers had been quarrelling: Aultane's fault, I am sure. He lifted his hand to strike Arkell. Aultane reproached him with having"--Georgina Beauclerc hesitated, with an amused look--"disposed of his prize medal." "Disposed of his prize medal?" echoed Mr. St. John. "Pawned it." St. John uttered an exclamation. He remembered the tricks of the college boys, but he could not have believed this of his favourite, Henry Arkell. "And his watch also, Lewis junior added," continued Georgina. "They gave me the information in a spiteful glow of triumph. Henry did not deny it: he looked as if he could not. But I know he is the soul of honour, and if he has done anything of the sort, those beautiful companions of his have over-persuaded him: possibly to lend the money to them." "I'll see into this," mentally spoke Mr. St. John. CHAPTER VI. PEACHING TO THE DEAN. Mr. St. John went at once to Peter Arkell's. Henry was alone, lying on his bed. "After such a fall as that, how could you be so imprudent as to come back and take the anthem?" was his unceremonious salutation. "I felt equal to it," replied Henry. "The one, originally put up, could not be done." "Then they should have put up a third, for me. The cathedral does not lack anthems, I hope. Show me where your head was struck." Henry put his hand to his ear, then higher up, then to his temple. "It was somewhere here--all about here--I cannot tell the exact spot." As he spoke, a tribe of college boys was heard to clatter in at the gate. Henry would have risen, but Mr. St. John laid his arm across him. "You are not going to those boys. I will send them off. Lie still and go to sleep, and dream of pleasant things." "Pleasant things!" echoed Henry Arkell, in a tone full of pain. Mr. St. John leaned over him. "Henry, I have never had a brother of my own; but I have almost loved you as such. Treat me as one now. What tale is it those demons of mischief have got hold of, about your watch and medal?" With a sharp cry, Henry Arkell turned his face to the pillow, hiding its distress. "I suppose old Rutterley has got them. But that's nothing; it's the fashion in the school: and I expect you had some urgent motive." "Oh, Mr. St. John, I shall never overget this day's shame: they told Georgina Beauclerc! I would rather die this moment, here, as I lie, than see her face again." His tone was one of suppressed anguish, and Mr. St. John's heart ached for him: though he chose to appear to make light of the matter.