THE YEARS ROLL BY

As might be expected, poor Vincey's sudden death created a great stir
in the College; but, as he was known to be very ill, and a satisfactory
doctor's certificate was forthcoming, there was no inquest. They were
not so particular about inquests in those days as they are now; indeed,
they were generally disliked, because of the scandal. Under all these
circumstances, being asked no questions, I did not feel called upon to
volunteer any information about our interview on the night of Vincey's
decease, beyond saying that he had come into my rooms to see me, as he
often did. On the day of the funeral a lawyer came down from London and
followed my poor friend's remains to the grave, and then went back with
his papers and effects, except, of course, the iron chest which had been
left in my keeping. For a week after this I heard no more of the matter,
and, indeed, my attention was amply occupied in other ways, for I was
up for my Fellowship, a fact that had prevented me from attending the
funeral or seeing the lawyer. At last, however, the examination was
over, and I came back to my rooms and sank into an easy chair with a
happy consciousness that I had got through it very fairly.

Soon, however, my thoughts, relieved of the pressure that had crushed
them into a single groove during the last few days, turned to the events
of the night of poor Vincey's death, and again I asked myself what it
all meant, and wondered if I should hear anything more of the matter,
and if I did not, what it would be my duty to do with the curious iron
chest. I sat there and thought and thought till I began to grow quite
disturbed over the whole occurrence: the mysterious midnight visit, the
prophecy of death so shortly to be fulfilled, the solemn oath that I had
taken, and which Vincey had called on me to answer to in another world