"It's the tonic I want," he replied. "You stand on the bridge. I can strip underneath if you'll keep watch." He led the way, and left her on the bridge. What an amazing man! A minute or so later she heard a splash, and shivered sympathetically in the cold November wind. She could not help just looking over the bridge a moment, and caught a glimpse of white shoulders, a dark head, and the strong arms thrashing the grey water into a foamy track. Then he turned and she looked away. When he came up and joined her on the bridge later, he looked marvellously refreshed. It was true his eye had closed up but most of the horror of the battle had been the blood. "But how have you dried yourself?" she asked, as he squeezed his hair with his hands. He laughed at her with his merry eye--the right one, still visible. "On my shirt." She blushed crimson. Men had shirts, as she knew, but it was awkward to be told so by men. They walked home through the barren copse, burning red on the horizon where the sun left the winter day. For one person these were the woods of Broceliande, and her heart warmed towards the young knight fresh from the battle. Mr. Woodman's expression, at the appearance of John just in time for tea in the study, was a mixture of surprise and disapproval. "My dear fellow--" he began. "You have not been fighting? An assistant master! Whatever will Tobin say? Don't eat all that toast--here's the fork, make your own--he will want a full explanation of that eye. What an eye!" John briefly recounted the episode. "I should leave out Miss Piggin," said Woodman. "Why?" "Tobin strongly disapproves of masters walking about the country with young ladies, and as for fighting for them like bulls in a herd..." "Oh, stop ragging. What's the best for a black eye?" BOOK IV LIFE CHAPTER I I Two young men stood on a country platform saying good-bye to each other. One was bound for Cambridge, the other for London. Two trunks were in charge of the porter, but neither of these belonged to the bronzed young fellow who took his seat in the train. For although London was his destination, he had as much foreknowledge of his actual resting place in that metropolis as had Mr. Richard Whittington many years before him. The latter was supposed to have brought a cat with him; the young man in the carriage had no cat. He had health and ambition, also one hundred and twenty pounds in the bank. He had been able to save the whole of his salary for the second and final term at Chawley School, which he had left at Easter, to the sorrow of the boys, who had marked their adoration with some tears, and a presentation set of "Shelley's Poems." He had taken a bold step, highly applauded by Mr. Gerald Woodman. He had sacrificed an income of sixty pounds a year, with board, lodging and washing, for the uncertainty of London.