hard at the man, and wondered whether Boots knew he was plucked? When in
bed be could not sleep there. He tossed about until the appearance of the
dismal London daylight, when he sprang up desperately, and walked off to
his uncle's lodgings in Bury Street; where the maid, who was scouring the
steps, looked up suspiciously at him, as he came with an unshaven face,
and yesterday's linen. He thought she knew of his mishap, too.

"Good evens! Mr. Harthur, what as appened, sir?" Mr. Morgan, the valet,
asked, who had just arranged the well-brushed clothes and shiny boots at
the door of his master's bedroom, and was carrying in his wig to the
Major.

"I want to see my uncle," he cried, in a ghastly voice, and flung himself
down on a chair.

Morgan backed before the pale and desperate-looking young man, with
terrified and wondering glances, and disappeared in his master's
apartment.

The Major put his head out of the bedroom door, as soon as he had his wig
on.

"What? examination over? Senior Wrangler, double First Class, hay? said
the old gentleman--I'll come directly;" and the head disappeared.

"They don't know what has happened," groaned Pen; "what will they say
when they know all?"

Pen had been standing with his back to the window, and to such a dubious
light as Bury Street enjoys of a foggy January morning, so that his uncle