As the days went on, and the pain grew no better, but worse, and the patient more heavy, it dawned into the surgeon's mind that he possibly did not understand the case, and it might be as well to have the advice of a physician. The most clever the city afforded was summoned, and he did not appear to understand it either. That there was some internal injury to the head, both agreed; but what it might be, it was not so easy to state. And thus more days crept on, and the doctors paid their regular visits, and the pain still grew worse; and then the half-shadowed doubt glided into a certainty which had little shadow about it, but stern substance--that the injury was rapidly running on to a fatal issue. He did not take to his bed: he would sit at his chamber window in an easy chair, his poor aching-head resting on a pillow. "You would be better in bed," everybody said to him. "No, he thought he was best up," he answered; "it was more change: when he was tired of the chair and the pillow, he could lie down outside the bed." "It is unaccountable his liking to be so much at the window," Mrs. Peter Arkell remarked to Lucy. To them it might be; for how could they know that a sight of _one_ who might pass and cast a glance up to him, made his day's happiness? That considerable commotion was excited by the opinion of the doctors, however cautiously intimated, was only to be expected. Mr. Arkell heard of it, and brought another physician, without saying anything beforehand at Peter's. But it would seem that this gentleman's opinion did not differ in any material degree from that of his brethren. The Reverend Mr. Wilberforce sat at the head of his dinner-table, eating his own dinner and carving for his pupils. His face looked hot and angry, and his spectacles were pushed to the top of his brow, for if there was one thing more than another that excited the ire of the master, it was that of the boys being unpunctual at meals, and Cookesley had this day chosen to be absent. The second serving of boiled beef was going round when he made his appearance. "What sort of behaviour do you call this, sir?" was the master's salutation. "Do you expect to get any dinner?" "I am very sorry to be so late, sir," replied Cookesley, eyeing the boiled beef wishfully, but not daring to take his seat. "I went to see Arkell, and----" "And who is Arkell, pray, or you either, that you must upset the regulations of my house?" retorted the master. "You should choose your visiting times better, Mr. Cookesley." "Yes, sir. I heard he was worse; that's the reason I went; and when I got there the dean was with him. I waited, and waited, but I had to come away without seeing Arkell, after all." "The dean with Arkell!" echoed Mr. Wilberforce, in a disbelieving tone. "He is there still, sir. Arkell is a great deal worse. They say he will never come to school or college again." "Who says so, pray?"