Ere eleven o’clock struck, service was over, and the boys marched back again. Not to the schoolroom--into the chapter-house. The examination, which took place once in three years, was there held. It was conducted quite in a formal manner; Mr. Galloway, as chapter clerk, being present, to call over the roll. The dean, the three prebendaries who had been at service, the head and other masters of the school, all stood together in the chapter-house; and the king’s scholars wearing their surplices still, were ranged in a circle before them. The dean took the examination. Dr. Burrows asked a question now and then, but the dean chiefly took it. There is neither space nor time to follow it in detail here: and no one would care to read it, if it were given. As a whole, the school acquitted itself well, doing credit to its masters. One of the chapter--it was Dr. Gardner, and the only word he spoke throughout--remarked that the head boy was a sound scholar, meaning Tom Channing. The business over, the dean’s words of commendation spoken, then the head-master took a step forward and cleared his throat. He addressed himself to the boys exclusively; for, what he had to say, had reference to them and himself alone: it was supposed not to concern the clergy. As to the boys, those who were of an excitable temperament, looked quite pale with suspense, now the long-expected moment was come. Channing? Huntley? Yorke?--which of the three would it be? “The praise bestowed upon you, gentlemen, by the Dean and Chapter has been, if possible, more gratifying to myself than to you. It would be superfluous in me to add a word to the admonition given you by the Very Reverend the Dean, as to your future conduct and scholarly improvement. I can only hope, with him, that they may continue to be such as to afford satisfaction to myself, and to those gentlemen who are associated with me as masters in the collegiate school.” A pause and a dead silence. The head-master cleared his throat again, and went on. “The retirement of William Gaunt from the school, renders the seniorship vacant. I am sorry that circumstances, to which I will not more particularly allude, prevent my bestowing it upon the boy whose name stands first upon the rolls, Thomas Ingram Channing. I regret this the more, that it is not from any personal fault of Channing’s that he is passed over; and this fact I beg may be most distinctly understood. Next to Channing’s name stands that of Henry Huntley, and to him I award the seniorship. Henry Huntley, you are appointed senior of Helstonleigh Collegiate School. Take your place.” The dead silence was succeeded by a buzz, a murmur, suppressed almost as soon as heard. Tom Channing’s face turned scarlet, then became deadly white. It was a cruel blow. Huntley, with an impetuous step, advanced a few paces, and spoke up bravely, addressing the master.