"There’s one other thing I can’t understand," he added, as he wended his way to the house of his victim. "Why did he look so pleased that same night when he found the letter in old Wattie’s coat as it was hanging on the wall? He didn’t know I was peeping at him when he took it out and slipped it into his own pocket. I know it was only a few lines the boss had written to his daughter, for he’d read it over to me that very afternoon, and I was to post it when I went off next day. It surely couldn’t have had anything to do with the paper I signed? I wish I had asked about it at the time." As he passed the lodge gates he met Julius hastening to the village. The voice of conscience, awakened in the boy’s heart by the terrors of the hours of darkness and the loneliness, had been stilled and silenced when the morning light arose, and having once overstepped the bounds of truth and obedience, it was easy to continue along the path of wrong. Two months had passed since that Sunday’s talk. The new tutor from Oxford had come and gone, peremptorily ordered out of the house by Mr. Field, who could not brook the superior intellect and independent manner of the young graduate. Thus the lad was left once more to his own devices, and few were the days when he found it impossible to arrange a meeting with his friend at Sea View Cottage. He had almost ceased to look upon his disobedience as a sin, his only fear being that his father would find him out at last. This morning he found Robin in a great state of excitement, brimful of new ideas and plans. To the unimaginative Julius these continual surprises were an unmixed delight. He never knew what new rôle he would be expected to take up as he joined his comrade in his play. Sometimes it was a knight in armour, going to rescue a captive princess, represented perhaps by old Mother Sheppard or Mrs. Power. These, being supposed to be under the spell of a magician, were naturally unwilling to accompany their youthful deliverers to the shore. Sometimes he had to represent a character in a favourite tale, but more often it was Robin’s history lesson which afforded the framework for some entrancing game. "I’m so glad you’ve come, Julius," was the welcoming cry now as he appeared at the door, "but what a pity your coat is grey. It’s fortunate my old jersey is green, for if I pull it down as low as I can, it almost covers my knickers, and no one would naturally look at them first." "Why shouldn’t my coat be grey?" questioned Julius. "It’s a very good colour." "Because it should be _green_--Lincoln green," exclaimed Robin. "They all had it. It was their sort of badge." "What badge?" asked Julius, altogether puzzled by the reply.