“Evening visiting costs a great deal, one way or another,” returned Hamish, “and I intend to drop most of mine for the present. You needn’t stare so, Yorke.” “I am staring at you. Drop evening visiting! Any one, dropping that, may expect to be in a lunatic asylum in six months.” “What a prospect for me!” laughed Hamish. “_Will_ you come to Cator’s?” “No, thank you.” “Then you are a muff!” retorted Roland, as he went on. It was dusk when they reached the cathedral. “I wonder whether the cloisters are still open!” Arthur exclaimed. “It will not take a minute to ascertain,” said Hamish. “If not, we must go round.” They found the cloisters still unclosed, and passed in. Gloomy and sombre were they at that evening hour. So sombre that, in proceeding along the west quadrangle, the two young men positively started, when some dark figure glided from within a niche, and stood in their way. “Whose ghost are you?” cried Hamish. A short covert whistle of surprise answered him. “You here!” cried the figure, in a tone of excessive disappointment. “What brings you in the cloisters so late?” Hamish dextrously wound him towards what little light was cast from the graveyard, and discerned the features of Hurst. Half a dozen more figures brought themselves out of the niches--Stephen Bywater, young Galloway, Tod Yorke, Harrison, Hall, and Berkeley. “Let me alone, Mr. Hamish Channing. Hush! Don’t make a row.” “What mischief is going on, Hurst?” asked Hamish. “Well, whatever it may have been, it strikes me you have stopped it,” was Hurst’s reply. “I say, wasn’t there the Boundaries for you to go through, without coming bothering into the cloisters?” “I am sorry to have spoiled sport,” laughed Hamish. “I should not have liked it done to me when I was a college boy. Let us know what the treason was.” “You won’t tell!” “No; if it is nothing very bad. Honour bright.” “Stop a bit, Hurst,” hastily interposed Bywater. “There’s no knowing what he may think ‘very bad.’ Give generals, not particulars. Here the fellow comes, I do believe!” “It was only a trick we were going to play old Ketch,” whispered Hurst. “Come out quickly; better that he should not hear us, or it may spoil sport for another time. Gently, boys!” Hurst and the rest stole round the cloisters, and out at the south door. Hamish and Arthur followed, more leisurely, and less silently. Ketch came up. “Who’s this here, a-haunting the cloisters at this time o’ night? Who be you, I ask?” “The cloisters are free until they are closed, Ketch,” cried Hamish. “Nobody haven’t no right to pass through ‘em at this hour, except the clergy theirselves,” grumbled the porter. “We shall have them boys a-playing in ‘em at dark, next.” “You should close them earlier, if you want to keep them empty,” returned Hamish. “Why don’t you close them at three in the afternoon?”