He was tired, exhausted, worn-out. He was very glad that he was going away—now he would be able to have Isabel to himself, and they might, together, forget this horrible nightmare of a term. He looked on the buildings of Moffatt's as the iron prison of some hideous dream. He could not sleep for the thought of it. Last night he had had some bad dream... he could not remember now what it had been, but he had wakened suddenly in a great panic, to imagine that someone was closing his door. Of course it had only been the wind, but he hoped that he would sleep properly to-night. At any rate he was glad that people were going to be pleasant to him on this last day of the term. The stout Miss Madder, Dormer, Clinton—they all seemed to be sorry that he was going, in spite of all the trouble that he had made. He did not think of Perrin.... Then he suddenly remembered Birkland. He would go and say good-by to him. He climbed the steep stairs and found the little man busily packing. The floor was covered with packing cases, books lay about in piles, and the air was full of dust. “Hullo!” said Traill, coughing in the doorway, “what's all this?” “Hullo!” said Birkland, looking up. “I'm glad you 've come. I was coming round to see you, if you hadn't. I'm off for good.” “Off for good!” Traill stared in astonishment. “Well, for good or bad. The things that have happened this term have finally screwed me up to a last attempt. One more struggle before I die—nothing can be worse than this—I gave notice last week.” “What are you going to do?” asked Traill. “I don't know—it's mad enough, I expect. But I've saved a tiny hit of money that will keep me for a time. I shall have a shot at anything. Nothing can he as bad as this—nothing!” He stood up, looking grim and scant enough in his shirt-sleeves with dust on his cheeks and his hair on end. “Well, I'm damned!” said Traill. “Well, after all, I'm on the same game. I don't know what I'm going to do either. We 're both in the same box.” “Oh!” said Birkland, “you've got youth and a beautiful lady to help you. I'm alone, and most of the spirit's knocked out of me after twenty years of this; but I'm going to have a shot—so wish me luck!” “Why, of course I do,” said Traill, coming up to him. “We 'll do it together—we 'll see heaps of each other.” “Ah! heaps!” said Birkland, shaking his head. “No, I'm too dry and dusty a stick by this time for young fellows like you. No, I'm better alone. But I 'll come and see you one day.” “You were quite right,” said Traill suddenly, “in what you said about the place the evening at the beginning of the term when I came in to see you. You were quite right.” “Poor boy,” said Birkland, looking at him affectionately, “you had a hard dose of it. Perhaps it was all for the best, really. It drove you out. If I'd been treated to that kind of row at the beginning, I mightn't have been here twenty years. And, after all, you met Miss Desart here.”