They moved away toward the seat under the sycamore, and now their words reached me no longer—only the low murmur of their voices or (to be correct) of the elder man’s: for the other only spoke now and then, to put a question, as it seemed. Presently I heard an oath rapped out and saw the bully start up. “Hush, man!” cried the other, and “hark-ye now—”; so he sat down again. Their very forms were lost within the shadow. I, myself, was cold enough by this time and had a cramp in one leg—but lay still, nevertheless. And after awhile they stood up together, and came pacing across the bowling-green, side by side, the older man trailing his foot painfully to keep step. You may be sure I strain’d my ears. “—besides the pay,” the stranger was saying, “there’s all you can win of this young fool, Anthony, and all you find on the pair, which I’ll wager—” They passed out of hearing, but turned soon, and came back again. The big man was speaking this time. “I’ll be shot if I know what game _you’re_ playing in this.” The elder chuckled softly. “I’ll be shot if I mean you to,” said he. And this was the last I heard. For now there came a clattering at the door behind me, and Mr. Robert Drury reeled in, hiccuping a maudlin ballad about “_Tib and young Colin, one fine day, beneath the haycock shade-a_,” &c., &c., and cursing to find his fire gone out, and all in darkness. Liquor was ever his master, and to-day the King’s health had been a fair excuse. He did not spy me, but the roar of his ballad had startled the two men outside, and so, while he was stumbling over chairs, and groping for a tinder-box, I slipp’d out in the darkness, and downstairs into the street. CHAPTER II. THE YOUNG MAN IN THE CLOAK OF AMBER SATIN, Guess, any of you, if these events disturbed my rest that night. ’Twas four o’clock before I dropp’d asleep in my bed in Trinity, and my last thoughts were still busy with the words I had heard. Nor, on the morrow, did it fair any better with me: so that, at rhetoric lecture, our president—Dr. Ralph Kettle—took me by the ears before the whole class. He was the fiercer upon me as being older than the gross of my fellow-scholars, and (as he thought) the more restless under discipline. “A tutor’d adolescence,” he would say, “is a fair grace before meat,” and had his hourglass enlarged to point the moral for us. But even a rhetoric lecture must have an end, and so, tossing my gown to the porter, I set off at last for Magdalen Bridge, where the new barricado was building, along the Physic Garden, in front of East Gate. The day was dull and low’ring, though my wits were too busy to heed the sky; but scarcely was I past the small gate in the city wall when a brisk shower of hail and sleet drove me to shelter in the Pig Market ( or _Proscholium_) before the Divinity School. ’Tis an ample vaulted passage, as I dare say you know; and here I found a great company of people already driven by the same cause.