thrusting his hands deep into his pockets.

As Professor of Logic and Moral Philosophy, Dr Nares began the
distribution of prizes. Buckland, in spite of his resolve to exhibit
no weakness, waited with unmistakable tremor for the announcement of
the leading name, which might possibly be his own. A few words of
comment prefaced the declaration:--never had it been the
Professor's lot to review more admirable papers than those to which
he had awarded the first prize. The name of the student called upon
to come forward was--Godwin Peak.

'Beaten!' escaped from Buckland's lips.

Mrs. Warricombe glanced at her son with smiling sympathy; Sidwell,
whose cheek had paled as her nerves quivered under the stress of
expectancy, murmured a syllable of disappointment; Mr. Warricombe set
his brows and did not venture to look aside. A moment, and all eyes
were directed upon the successful student, who rose from a seat
half-way down the hall and descended the middle passage towards the
row of Professors. He was a young man of spare figure and unhealthy
complexion, his age not easily conjectured. Embarrassment no doubt
accounted for much of the awkwardness of his demeanour; but, under
any circumstances, he must have appeared ungainly, for his long arms
and legs had outgrown their garments, which were no fashionable
specimens of tailoring. The nervous gravity of his countenance had a
peculiar sternness; one might have imagined that he was fortifying
his self-control with scorn of the elegantly clad people through
whom he passed. Amid plaudits, he received from the hands of the
Principal a couple of solid volumes, probably some standard work of
philosophy, and, thus burdened, returned with hurried step to his