'I beg your pardon, sir.'

'You know your room, for I showed it you before dinner; but I will
accompany you to it once more. Your arm, if you please. Softly,
for the house is all a-bed.'

Scooping his hand into the same scientific elbow-rest as before,
and backing it up with the inert strength of his arm, as skilfully
as a Police Expert, and with an apparent repose quite unattainable
by novices, Mr. Crisparkle conducts his pupil to the pleasant and
orderly old room prepared for him. Arrived there, the young man
throws himself into a chair, and, flinging his arms upon his
reading-table, rests his head upon them with an air of wretched
self-reproach.

The gentle Minor Canon has had it in his thoughts to leave the
room, without a word. But looking round at the door, and seeing
this dejected figure, he turns back to it, touches it with a mild
hand, says 'Good night!' A sob is his only acknowledgment. He
might have had many a worse; perhaps, could have had few better.

Another soft knock at the outer door attracts his attention as he
goes down-stairs. He opens it to Mr. Jasper, holding in his hand
the pupil's hat.

'We have had an awful scene with him,' says Jasper, in a low voice.

'Has it been so bad as that?'