Things were going on thus smoothly, and it was beginning to seem as if the tide of life was set calm for both of us, when an event happened which once more suddenly stirred us to excitement and perturbation.

It was a Sunday evening, the evening preceding Jack's examination. He had been working hard, too hard, night after night for weeks past, and was now taking a literal day of rest before his ordeal. We were in our room with Mr Smith the elder, who was a regular Sunday visitor. He had devoted whatever spare time he could give of late to Jack's preparations, "coaching" him in Latin and Greek, and reading with him Ancient History. And now he was almost as excited and anxious about the result as either of us two.

Indeed, Jack himself took the whole matter so coolly that it seemed he must either have been perfectly confident of success, or perfectly indifferent to it, and this evening he was doing quite as much to keep up our spirits as we his.

The examination, which was to last two days, was to begin at nine next morning, and Jack had received a gratifying permission from the partners to absent himself for those two days accordingly.

"It will be a pretty hard grind while it lasts," Jack said, "for the examination goes on eight hours each day."

"When is the _viva-voce_ portion?" asked Mr Smith.

"To-morrow. They begin with it, and I shall be glad when it is over. I don't mind the writing nearly so much."

"Hadn't you better go to bed now," suggested I, "and get a good-night?"

"So I will," said he, "presently. But I must first write to Mrs Shield."

I happened to be looking towards Mr Smith the elder as Jack said this.

He gave a quick involuntary start, which, however, he instantly turned off into a fit of coughing as his eyes met mine.

Mr Smith had had a racking cough ever since I had known him, but I don't think I ever remembered his having a spasm of this kind before.

"The fact is," said Jack, whose back was turned, as he looked for some note-paper on the shelf, "I ought to have written last week, but I was so busy. And if I put it off any longer they will both think something is wrong."

I only heard what he said mechanically, for my eyes were fixed on Mr Smith.

His face had turned deadly white, and the old frightened look about his eyes came out now with startling intensity. He certainly must be ill or in pain.

"Are you--" I began.

But with a sudden effort he rose to his feet, and with a glance at Jack motioned to me to be silent, and leave the question unasked.

"What?" said Jack, turning round to me.

"Are you--going to write a long letter?" I asked.

"I can't say till I begin," said Jack, laughing, and sitting down to write.

"I'll say good-night," said Mr Smith, in a hoa.r.s.e but otherwise composed voice.

"Good-night," said Jack. "I wish you'd get rid of your cold. All that night work must be bad for you."

Mr Smith shook hands with me in silence and quitted the room. I heard his footsteps go strangely down the stairs, and his door shut behind him in the room below.

I didn't feel comfortable. I was afraid he was ill--more ill than he wished either of us to suspect. It was the only way in which I could account for the spasm which preluded that last fit of coughing.

If it was so, he would be naturally anxious to conceal the fact from Jack on the eve of his examination, and that would account for his abrupt interruption of my question.

However, I had no examination to-morrow, and I was determined if possible to know the truth about our friend that very evening.

I sat by while Jack wrote his letter, thinking it interminable, and wondering what he could have to say to fill two sheets. When it was done I insisted on taking it to the post.

"It's after ten now," said I, "and you really ought to be in bed."

"You're precious careful of me, old boy," he said. "However, you shall have your own way for once."

I saw him safe in bed before I started, and then hastened out.

To post the letter was the work of a minute or two, for there was a pillar-box a little way down the road. This done, I returned eagerly and with some trepidation to the lodgings, and knocked at Mr Smith's door.

He made no answer, so I entered without leave.

He was sitting on a chair by the tireless hearth with his head on his hands, either asleep or buried in thought.

It was not till I touched him that he became aware of my presence, and then he did so with a start, as if I had been a ghost.

"Ah, Batchelor," said he, recovering himself and leaning back in his chair.

"Are you ill, Mr Smith?" I asked.

"No, my boy, no," said he; "not ill."

"I thought you were--upstairs just now."

"Did you? Ah! you saw me jump; I had a twinge. But don't let's talk of that. Sit down and let's talk of something else."

I sat down, very perplexed and uneasy, and more convinced than ever that Mr Smith was not himself.

"How do you think he'll get on in his examination?" asked he, after a pause.

"Jack? Oh, I have very little doubts about it," said I.

"No more have I; he's well and carefully prepared."

"Thanks a great deal to you," said I. "Well, I did get him on a little with the Greek, I believe," said Mr Smith.

Another pause ensued, during which Mr Smith sat looking hard into the empty grate. Then he asked, "You have known him a long time, Batchelor?"

"Yes; we were at school together."

"Do you know his parents at all?"

"No," I replied, feeling uncomfortable to be once more on this dangerous ground, although on my guard, and prepared to bite my tongue off rather than play my friend false again.

Mr Smith a.s.sumed as complete an air of unconcern as he could as he asked, "It's a strange question, but do you know anything about them?"

I would have given a good deal to be out of that room. There was something in Mr Smith's voice and manner and frightened eyes which made the question, coming from him, very different from the same inquiry flippantly thrown out by one of my old comrades. And yet I would not--I could not--answer it.