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66 CONSCIENTIA URILLE TESTES."

through the entire number of the questions. The mental struggle did not last an instant, for the emotions of the spirit belong only to eternity, and the guilt of human actions is not commensurate with the length of time they occupy. But in the intense wish to see what the examination would be like, and to secure his first class, Kennedy repressed altogether, by one blow, the moral element of his being, and concentrated his whole intellect on the paper before him. To read it through was the work of a minute; when it was read through, it was too late to wish the act undone, and, without suffering himself to dwell, or even to recur in thought to the nature of his proceedings, Kennedy deliberately read through the whole paper a second time.

But this imperious effort of the will was not exercised without visible effects. Absorbed as he was in seizing every prominent subject in the questions, his forehead contracted, his hands shook, his knees trembled, and his heart palpitated with violence. He observed nothing; he did not notice the shadow that checkered the sunlight streaming from the door of the inner room; nor did he hear the light step which passed over the carpet; he did not feel the breath of a man who stood behind him, looked over his shoulder, watched his eager determination to secure the unfair advantage, smiled at his agitation, and then slipped back again into the inner room, unnoticed as before.

It was done. Not a question but was printed indelibly on Kennedy's memory. Quickly, fearfully, he shut the book, and glided back to the arm-chair, in the vain attempt to look and feel at ease.

At ease! no, now the tumult broke. Now Kennedy

A SHADOW ON THE FLOOR.

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hated himself; called himself mean, vile, contemptible, a reptile, a cheat. Now his insulted honor began to vindicate his rights, and his trampled sense of truth to spring up with a menacing bound, and his conscience to speak out calmly and clearly the language of self-condemnation and contempt. Good Heavens! how could he have sunk so low? Fancy if Julian had seen him, or could know his meanness. Fancy if anybody had seen him. Hazlet, or Fitzurse, or Brogten himself, could hardly have been guilty of a more dishonorable act.

You miserable souls, that do not know what honor is, or what torments rend a truly noble heart, if ever it be led to commit an act which to your seared consciences and muddy intelligence appears a trivial sin, or even no sin at all; you, the mean men to whom an offense like this is so common, that, unless it were discovered, it would not trouble your recollections with a feather's weight of remorse,-for you, I scorn to write, and I scorn from my inmost being the sneer with which you will regard the agony that Kennedy suffered from his fall. But, to the high and the generous, who have erred, and have bewailed their error in secret,-to them I appeal to imagine the anguish of self-reproach, the bitterness of humiliation, which stung him in those few moments after his first dishonor. It is the lofty tower that falls with the heaviest crash; it is the stately soul that suffers the deepest abasement; it is the white scutcheon on which the dark stain seems to wear its darkest hue.

He had not sat there for many minutes-though to him they seemed like hours-when a step on the stairs

told him that his tutor's visitor had departed, and the gyp blandly entering, observed,—

"Now, sir, Mr. Grayson can see you."

"Oh! very well," said Kennedy, rising and assuming, with a painful effort, his most indifferent look and

tone.

"Pardon me, Mr. Kennedy, my turn first; I have been waiting longest," said a harsh voice behind him, that sounded mockingly to his excited ear. He turned sharply round, and, with a low bow and a curl on the protruding lip, and a little guttural laugh, Brogten came from the inner room, and passed before him into Mr. Grayson's presence.

If a thunder-bolt had suddenly fallen before Kennedy's feet and cloven its sulphureous passage into the abyss, he could hardly have been more startled or more alarmed. Without a word he sat down half stupefied. Was any one else in the inner room? For very shame he dare not look. Had Brogten seen him? If so, would he at once tell Mr. Grayson? What would be done in that case? Dare he deny the fact? Passionately he spurned the hateful suggestion. Would Brogten tell all the St. Werner's men? Brogten of all others, whom he had publicly insulted and branded with dishonor! Ah me, there is no anguish so keen, so deadly, as the anguish of awakened shame!

With unspeakable anxiety Kennedy awaited Brogten's departure. Why should he be so long? Surely he must be telling Mr. Grayson.

At last the heavy step was heard, the door opened, and the gyp once more announced that Mr. Grayson was disengaged.

WILL HE TELL?

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Pale and almost breathless, Kennedy went into the

room.

“Good morning, Mr. Kennedy."

"Good morning, sir."

He quite expected that Mr. Grayson was about at once to address him on the subject of the paper, and, expecting this, totally forgot the purpose for which he had come. The tutor's cold eye was upon him, and after a pause he said,

"Well, Mr. Kennedy?"

"Well, sir?" he replied, with a start. "Do you want anything?"

"Oh, I came for-Really, sir, I must beg your pardon, but I have forgotten what it was."

"To look at an examination paper," were the words which, in his embarrassment, sprang to his lips, but he checked them just in time.

Really, Mr. Kennedy, you appear to be strangely absent this morning," said Mr. Grayson, in a tone the reverse of encouraging.

'Oh, I remember now," he replied, desperately; "it was a library order I wanted."

Mr. Grayson wrote him the order. Kennedy took it, and, without even shaking the cold hand which the tutor proffered, hurried out of the room, relieved at least by the conviction that Brogten, if he had seen him look at the paper, had not, as yet, at any rate, revealed it to the examiner.

"After all," he reflected, "he was hardly likely to do that. But had he told the men?"

Kennedy did not go to the library; he could not bear to meet anybody, and hastened to bury himself in

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his own rooms.

ANYTHING BUT DETECTION.

His walk, usually so erect and gay as he went across the court-the tune he used to hum so merrily in the sunshine-and the bright open glance of recognition with which he passed his acquaintances and friends, were gone to-day. He shuffled silently along the cloisters with downcast eyes.

Hall time would be the time to know whether Brogten had seen him and betrayed him. And if he had seen him, surely there could be no doubt he would tell of him. What a sweet revenge it would be for that malicious heart! how completely it would turn the tables on Kennedy for the day when he had sarcastically alluded to Brogten's bets! how amply it would fulfill the promise of which that parting scowl of hatred had been full.

He went to hall rather late on purpose; and, instead of sitting in his usual place near Julian, he chose a vacant place at another table. Half a minute sufficed to show him that there was no difference in his reception; the same frequent nods and smiles from all sides still gave him the frank greeting of which, as a popular man, he was always sure. He looked round to Brogten, but could make nothing of his face; it simply wore a somewhat slight smile when their eyes met, and Kennedy's fell. Kennedy began to convince himself that Brogten could not have seen what he had done in Mr. Grayson's room.

The thought rolled away a great load—a heavy, intolerable load from his heart. It was not that with him, as with so many thousands, the fear of discovery constituted the sense of sin, but young as he was, and high as his character had stood hitherto in man's estimation,