Gerald Yorke looked red in his turn, and somewhat foolish. “I beg your pardon, sir; I was not saying precisely that,” he answered with hesitation. “I think you were saying precisely that,” was the response of the master. “My ears are quicker than you may fancy, Mr. Yorke. If you really have been hugging yourself with the notion that the promotion will be yours, the sooner you disabuse your mind of it, the better. Whoever gains the seniorship will gain it by priority of right, by scholarship, or by conduct--as the matter may be. Certainly not by anything else. Allow me to recommend you, one and all”--and the master threw his eyes round the desks generally, and gave another emphatic stroke with the cane--“that you concern yourselves with your legitimate business; not with mine.” Gerald did not like the reproof, or the news. He remained silent and sullen until the conclusion of school, and then went tearing home. “A pretty block you have made of me!” he uttered, bursting into the presence of Lady Augusta, who had just returned home, and sat fanning herself on a sofa before an open window. “Why, what has taken you?” returned her ladyship. “It’s a shame, mother! Filling me up with the news that I was to be senior? And now Pye goes and announces that I’m a fool for supposing so, and that it’s to go in regular rotation.” “Pye does not mean it,” said my lady. “There, hold your tongue, Gerald. I am too hot to talk.” “I know that every fellow in the school will have the laugh at me, if I am to be made a block of, like this!” grumbled Gerald. CHAPTER XXXV. -- THE EARL OF CARRICK. On a fine afternoon in August--and the month was now drawing towards its close--the 2.25 train from London steamed into the station at Helstonleigh, eight minutes behind time, and came to a standstill. Amongst the passengers who alighted, was a gentleman of middle age, as it is called--in point of fact, he had entered his fiftieth year, as the peerage would have told any curious inquirer. As he stepped out of a first-class carriage, several eyes were drawn towards him, for he was of notable height, towering above every one; even above Roland Yorke, who was of good height himself, and stood on the platform waiting for him. It was the Earl of Carrick, brother to Lady Augusta Yorke, and much resembling her--a pleasant, high cheek-boned, easy face, betraying more of good humour than of high or keen intellect, and nothing of pride. The pride of the young Yorkes was sometimes talked of in Helstonleigh, but it came from their father’s side, not from Lady Augusta’s. The earl spoke with a slight brogue, and shook both Roland’s hands heartily, as soon as he found that it was to Roland they belonged. “Sure then! but I didn’t know ye, Roland! If ye had twenty years more on to ye’re head, I should have thought it was ye’re father.” “Have I grown like him, Uncle Carrick?” “Ye’ve grown out of knowledge, me boy. And how’s ye’re mother, and how are the rest of ye?”