Sir Simon, ever good-natured, trotted off home to impart the welcome news, and Mr. Henry, not staying to take anything, but saying he would be back immediately, went his way to the college. His object was only to report himself back, for he intended to take his duties in the afternoon. Not until the following day should be over—the great one of the Orville examination—would he disturb Dr. Brabazon with his ailments. The sky was blue and somewhat wintry, the leaves were falling, the air seemed to strike upon him with a chill. But that sweet peace, diffusing itself within, was whispering comfort: he might be taken, but his mother—he saw it with a sure prevision—would be sheltered under the good care of God. Not redolent of peace, certainly, were the sounds that greeted his ear as he came to the quadrangle, or the sight that met his astonished gaze. His back propped against a pillar, his honest grey eyes flashing with anger, his arms outstretched to ward off blows, was George Paradyne. It has been said that no opportunity occurred for an outbreak on Paradyne during morning study. That the row began. He was caught up in passing through the quadrangle, on his way home, and surrounded. Yelling, shouting, kicking, hitting, a hundred inflamed faces were turned upon him at once, a hundred arms and legs put out their aggressive strength. The seniors, who first raised the storm, had not intended it to take this turn, but they were powerless to stem the torrent now, and so some of them went in for it. The boy put his back against a pillar, and stood his ground bravely, fencing off blows as he best could, hitting back again, his whole face glowing with scorn for his assailants, and for the unequal conflict. Suddenly Bertie Loftus appeared: he had been indoors, and knew nothing of it: and stood for a moment in surprised astonishment. Pushing through the crowd with his great strength, great when he put his indolence off and his metal on, he took up a position side by side with Paradyne. "Look here, you fellows, I'll have no more of this. You ought to be ashamed of your manners: I am, for you; disgracing yourselves in this fashion! Trace! Brown major! Talbot! Whitby!—all you strong ones—I call upon you to beat the throng off. Dick, you young fool, be a man if you can!" He spoke with the authority of the acting senior, but he was not obeyed as the real one. The boys' passions were up. None of them saw that a stranger who happened to be passing, had halted at the great gates to look on, and was standing in amazement. Bertie's words made some temporary impression, and there came a lull in the storm. "Now then," he cried, taking advantage of the silence, "wait, all of you. Let us bring a little reason to bear, and don't go in for this row, as if you were so many Irish jackasses met at a fighting fair. Trace, the affair is yours if it's anybody's; you raised it; suppose you explain to Paradyne what the matter is."