Women's voices! They must be passing the barges, racing down the last of the course. When his sight cleared, he saw them--steep banks of women's faces, shining and nodding, and fluttering into the far distance. Christ Church! By Jove, they must be nearly on them. He could feel the turmoil of the beaten water. They were rowing Christ Church down. “Give her ten.” The cox was counting hysterically. Peter tried to pick it up. He couldn't. He knew it. He was going to pieces. His stroke was flagging. And then----. What was that? “Peter. Peter. Peter.” As the eight fled by he heard it--a girl's voice frantically urging him. And a man's--he heard that, too. “Go it, Peter. Well rowed, old top.” Only the Faun Man would have called him old top. She was there to see him! His last strength returned. He pulled himself together and swung out. The oars behind him were getting in late; he could feel the boat dragging. It didn't matter; he'd take her to the head of the river, if he were the only man left rowing. Bedlam was all about him. The cox bent forward, shrieking at him, trying to make himself heard above the racket. He caught what he said: “Only a foot now.” What was happening? A jerk! The boat paused and shuddered. It had touched something. Then again it started forward. Someone was telling him to stop. He wouldn't stop; they'd wanted him to go on before. He was going to make sure. By his side he saw something like a broken bird, trailing in the water. Then he saw eight men, fallen forward, spent and panting. People were cheering. On the bank they were dancing. The cox laid his hands on his oar to stay him. He was grinning from ear to ear. “You silly devil! Leave off!” It dawned on him. They'd made their bump--gone ahead of the river. And she'd been there to watch him! CHAPTER XXXVIII--A NIGHT OF IT The college and its guests were assembled. Peter and his eight, with members of the crews they had defeated, were seated at the high table. The bump-supper was in progress. Scarcely anyone was absolutely sober. For the first time in history Calvary had gone up seven places and had finished head of the river. Stoop-shouldered dons, men who held themselves aloof with a scholar's shyness, broke their rule to-night and hobnobbed with undergraduates. The dim old college hall was-uproarious with strong laughter and bass voices. The animal splendor of youth, the rage of life, as seen that afternoon on the river, had lured them away from cramped texts and grievous truths contained in books--had opened their eyes to a more vigorous and primitive conception of living.