"Have you gained the prize, Trace?" he asked, as he caught him up. "It has not pleased the Head Master to proclaim who has gained it or who has not," answered Trace, turning, and speaking with the same sort of accent he might have used to a dog. "But I suppose you feel sure of it?" "I have felt that all along. I _am_ sure now." "That's right," cried George heartily. "I am glad I gave up to you! If I have been secretly chafing over it all day, I'm only thankful now." "Glad you gave up to me!" retorted Trace. "You did not give up to me; you were forced to give up because you couldn't help yourself." "I gave up to you indeed, Trace; that you might get it. It was through Mr. Henry; he persuaded me: and I'm heartily glad of it as things have turned out. Good-bye, old fellow! I won't keep you now; but I'll stand by you through all, Trace. Mind that." Scarcely according a moment's thought to the ambiguous words, except to resent their insolence, Trace gave his shoulders a shake, metaphorically shaking off George Paradyne, and went on his way of triumph. Ah, boys! how often when we are at the very height of prosperity, is a fall near! as you go through life you will remark it. That was the last hour of pride to Raymond Trace. He rang grandly at the hall-bell—as became a senior fellow who was above the ordinary run of mortals, and had just gained the Orville. "Is Mr. Trace in the dining-room?" he asked of Thomas, rubbing his shoes on the inner mat, and handing him his gown and trencher. A simple question, however lordly put, but Thomas answered it in a peculiar way. He dropped his voice to a confidential whisper, and laid his fore-finger on Trace's shoulder, as if there were some mystery in the house. "He's not here, Mr. Raymond. He is safe off." "Safe off!" exclaimed Trace. "What do you mean?" "He is gone, sir. I let him out at the back-lawn window, with his carpet-bag, as soon as it was dusk." Trace stared at the man. "What is he gone for?" "There's some trouble afoot, Mr. Raymond, and your father has gone away out of it. He was looking like a ghost. Mr. Loftus is telegraphed for, and we think he may get here to-night by a late train." "But what is the trouble?" asked Trace, a strange feeling of vague dismay stealing over him. Thomas shook his head. "I don't rightly know what it is, sir. A man of the name of Hopper brought it, I fancy, and he's in there now with Sir Simon"—pointing to the dining-room. "I dare say you can go in, Mr. Raymond," he added, advancing to open the door. "Mrs. Paradyne has just gone." It had been an eventful day. While Raymond Trace was flourishing his acquirements and his proficiency before learned men, fate, so cross-grained at times, was working elsewhere no end of ill. On the hearthrug, when he went in, stood Sir Simon and Hopper. Hopper left them, and Sir Simon prepared to enter upon an explanation. Trace set himself to listen; a moisture as of some awful dread, breaking out upon his brow.