The master left the schoolroom, and Babel broke loose--questioning, denying, protesting, one of another. Bywater was surrounded. “Won’t there be a stunning flogging? Bywater, who did it? Do you know?” Bywater sat himself astride over the end of a bench, and nodded. The senior boy turned to him, some slight surprise in his look and tone. “Do you know, Bywater?” “Pretty well, Gaunt. There are two fellows in this school, one’s at your desk, one’s at the second desk, and I believe they’d either of them do me a nasty turn if they could. It was one of them.” “Who do you mean?” asked Gaunt eagerly. Bywater laughed. “Thank you. If I tell now, it may defeat the ends of justice, as the newspapers say. I’ll wait till I am sure--and then, let him look to himself. _I_ won’t spare him, and I don’t fancy Pye will.” “You’ll never find out, if you don’t find out at once, Bywater,” cried Hurst. “Shan’t I? You’ll see,” was the significant answer. “It’s some distance from here to the vestry of the cathedral, and a fellow could scarcely steal there and steal back without being seen by somebody. It was done stealthily, mark you; and when folks go on stealthy errands they are safe to be met.” Before he had finished speaking, a gentlemanly-looking boy of about twelve, with delicate features, a damask flush on his face, and wavy auburn hair, sprang up with a start. “Why!” he exclaimed, “I saw--” And there he came to a sudden halt, and the flush on his cheek grew deeper, and then faded again. It was a face of exceeding beauty, refined almost as a girl’s, and it had gained for him in the school the _sobriquet_ of “Miss.” “What’s the matter with you, Miss Charley?” “Oh, nothing, Bywater.” “Charley Channing,” exclaimed Gaunt, “do you know who did it?” “If I did, Gaunt, I should not tell,” was the fearless answer. “_Do_ you know, Charley?” cried Tom Channing, who was one of the seniors of the school. “Where’s the good of asking that wretched little muff?” burst forth Gerald Yorke. “He’s only a girl. How do you know it was not one of the lay-clerks, Bywater? They carry ink in their pockets, I’ll lay. Or any of the masons might have gone into the vestry, for the matter of that.” “It wasn’t a lay-clerk, and it wasn’t a mason,” stoically nodded Bywater. “It was a college boy. And I shall lay my finger upon him as soon as I am a little bit surer than I am. I am three parts sure now.” “If Charley Channing does not suspect somebody, I’m not here,” exclaimed Hurst, who had closely watched the movement alluded to; and he brought his hand down fiercely on the desk as he spoke. “Come, Miss Channing, just shell out what you know; it’s a shame the choristers should lie under such a ban: and of course we _shall_ do so, with Pye.”