“Barrington! Hardcastle! Barrington!” He and Hardcastle had to make speeches to one another. A rocket soared into the night and burst among the stars. A rocket from a neighboring college answered the challenge. Soon the sky became a target against which Oxford aimed burning arrows. A dispute arose as to the details of the last great race. Hardcastle insisted that there was nothing for it but to row it all afresh. With grave solemnity the crewmen, as though they were taking their places in an eight, were made to seat themselves in a line along the path. A rival crew, selected from among the defeated oarsmen of other colleges, was arranged ahead of them. Peter took his place at stroke in this sham rehearsal of an event accomplished. A pistol was fired; with empty hands, the eightsmen went through all the motions of rowing, to an accompaniment of yells of encouragement. It must be nearly twelve--the out-of-college men and guests were departing. Peter wished he could follow them. Good-byes were being said with exaggerated fervor, as if long journeys were in prospect. The last of them had seized his gown and run. The porter was locking the gate of the lodge. Big Tom boomed the hour. The college was closed; there would be no more knocking in or out until to-morrow. And to-morrow she might be gone. Peter caught Harry by the arm and led him aside. “Where's she staying?” “Who?” “Cherry, of course.” Harry laughed slyly. “Cherry, of course! Who else? Staying! Lorie's taken a room for her in Bath Place. You know--between Holywell and Hell Passage.” “Which room?” Harry became serious. “Look here, old chap, what d'you want to know for?” “Because i'm going to her.” “Oh, are you?” “Yes, to-night. You know what she is--may be gone before breakfast.” “Here, you'd better come to bed.” As they strolled across quad to Peter's room, Harry asked him, “Whatever put such a mad scheme into your head? You can't get out of college--the gate's shut. If you did and got caught, you'd be sent down for a certainty.” When the door had closed behind them, Peter didn't sit down--he didn't start to undress. He went to the window, threw it open and leant out. “I'm going, Harry, and I shan't get caught, either. You've got to help. It's a twenty-foot drop. If I knot my sheets together they'll be long enough. You wait here till I come back and haul me up.” Harry didn't approve of it; but he was the mouth-organ boy and the adventure was in keeping with the night. The rope of sheets was flung out. For a moment Peter balanced on the sill; then he slipped down, hand-over-hand, into the blackness. “All right.” The rope was withdrawn. The street was intensely quiet--empty of all sound. Houses slept. Not a shadow stirred. A cool breeze blew upon his forehead. He had the world to himself. He felt immensely young and exultant.