than that, some of his things were hanging out of his box as if he had hurriedly opened and closed it, after dragging carelessly out an article of clothing.

"That fellow doesn't mean to come home tonight," observed Tom, with a serious look. "I begin to wish, Muster Guy, we hadn't taken his tickets."

"Oh, we mustn't begin to fancy anything wrong," answered Guy. "He'll be home, perhaps, before we're undressed, and if I hear him I shall go down and let him in. So, good night, Tom."

"Good night, Muster Guy," said Tom, more gravely than usual.

"How suspicious Tom is to-night!" muttered Guy, as he walked into his own room.

A gust of wind, on opening the door, nearly extinguished his candle, when he observed the window to be wide open, the table beneath it pushed aside, and two or three of his books, which always stood upon it in scrupulous order, lying flat upon the floor.

"Some cat," he thought, "must have got in, unless Lucy has been playing me a trick on finding me away."

He was too sleepy just then to examine further. He closed the window, picked up the books, and throwing off his clothes, was soon in a delightful state of unconsciousness.

He slumbered on till a late hour, and would probably have slept longer still, but that a knocking at his window roused him.

It did not, however, do so at once, for the noise connected itself in some not unusual way with a dream that had taken possession of him, and a minute or two elapsed before he was sufficiently awake to discover its reality.

Then, indeed, he sprang up in his bed, and, to his utter astonishment, beheld his master, Mr Bindwell, and two men, outside his window, with their faces close to the panes peering in upon him, and occasionally tapping to arouse him from his slumbers.

As soon as he discovered who it was, although bewildered with the circumstances, and alarmed besides, for he reflected on his interviews with Lucy, and apprehended they were found out, he jumped from his bed, and hurriedly slipped on some clothes, when he walked to the window, and threw it open.

Mr Bindwell at once let himself into the room, followed by the two men.

He was covered with dust, as if just off a journey, and looked fagged besides; but beyond this, his features expressed great agitation, and his usually florid complexion was as pale as nature would allow it to be.

"How came you in this room?" was his first inquiry.

"I changed with Tom, sir, sometime ago."

"What for?"

"Brand and I had a quarrel, sir, and I didn't like sleeping in the same room with him.”

“Ha!—hm!” ejaculated Mr Bindwell. Then he

immediately inquired, "Are you always as late as this, youngster, before you get up?"

"No, sir,” said Guy. "I overslept myself. Tom and I were out, sir, last night. Mr Ruggles gave us leave."

"Oh! You were out last night, were you?" said Mr Bindwell, looking round at the two men, who, Guy observed, winked at each other.

The youth began, he scarce knew why, to feel more and more uncomfortable, a feeling which was increased by the mysterious manner of his master.

"And where might you have been?" asked Mr Bindwell, fixing his eyes full on Guy.

There was no more reason for his hesitating to reply to this question than there had been with respect to the former ones, but somehow he did hesitate, perhaps for half-a-minute, and then stammered out, "To the Play, sir."

"Oh! to the Play! Hm! We shall know all about that by and by. Meanwhile, finish your dressing. And you," turning to the men, "search the room."

Guy turned pale at this order, a circumstance which did not escape the notice of his visitors.

And yet, what cause had he to fear such a proceeding, or what could be discovered to his detriment?

"A guilty conscience," says the Scripture proverb, "needs no accuser; " and the conscience of Guy

Rivers was not free from taint.