Lucy covered her eyes with her hands to shut out the dreadful sight, and she was trembling so dreadfully that the bed shook with her. Clearly the girl was in a fever, and her mind was wandering. The name of Wyatt Edgell was familiar to Pamela; it was familiar to everybody in Cambridge. He was the coming Senior Wrangler. What could Eric have to do with him--poor Eric, who was grinding for his 'Special'? 'What wound?' said Pamela impatiently; 'and who sewed it up?' 'Eric sewed it up, and I helped him. I drew the edges together, while he put the needle in the quivering flesh. Oh, it was horrible!' Lucy sank back on the couch, and her lips grew pale, and her cheeks gray, and Pamela thought she was going to faint. She hadn't got anything but eau-de-Cologne to give her--not a nip of brandy for the world; not even a pocket flask is allowed at Newnham. She went to the water-jug and poured out some water in a basin, and dabbed it over the girl's face and hands, and made her own bed streaming. Perhaps there was something in the girl's story, after all! She couldn't have dreamed these hideous details. 'Where was the wound? how had he hurt himself?' she asked presently. 'He had cut his throat.' Pamela let the basin of water she was holding fall on the floor. She didn't scream as any less well-regulated mind would have done, but she let the basin slip out of her hands, and the water made a dreadful mess on the floor. 'Cut his throat?' she repeated faintly--she was nearly as white as Lucy--'and Eric----' 'Eric sewed it up.' 'Is--is he dead?' She asked the question hoarsely, in a voice Lucy couldn't have recognised for Pamela's, but she was past noticing voices. 'No--o; Eric has asked God to give him back his life, that he may begin it afresh.' 'What use is that?' said Pamela bitterly. 'I am sure God heard him--we were praying for him when the nurse came in. He was asking that the nurse might be sent quickly, and she came while the words were on his lips.' 'Of course the nurse would be sent; you can get a nurse at any moment from Addenbroke's without praying for one.' 'Oh, you don't understand!' Lucy moaned; 'you don't know the worst. It had to be done secretly: no one must know. It would ruin him for life if it were known.' 'You don't mean that they haven't told anyone? that they are trying to hush it up, and not let the tutors know?' Lucy moaned. 'Oh, what folly is this! I am sure Eric is at the bottom of it.' 'Yes; it was Eric made me promise I wouldn't tell, and I have told you,' Lucy murmured helplessly. 'Of course you have told me. Having told me so much, you must tell me all--you must keep nothing back.' And so Lucy sat up in the bed with her arms round Pamela--she couldn't have told her without having something to cling to--and told her her wretched little story, and how she had pledged herself to keep this young man's secret. 'What do you think I ought to do?' she asked weakly, when the recital was finished.