The Senior Tutor--a spare tall man with a Jove-like brow--emerged from the library, and stood on the steps surveying the broken glass.
"All run to cover, of course!" was his reflection, half scornful, half disgusted.

"But I am certain I heard Falloden's voice.

What a puppy stage it is! They would be much better employed worrying old boots!" But philosopher or no, he got no clue.

The quadrangle was absolutely quiet and deserted, save for the cheeping of the swallows flitting across it, and the whistling of a lad in the porter's lodge.

The Senior Tutor returned to the library, where he was unpacking a box of new books.
The rioters emerged at discreet intervals, and rejoined each other in the broad street outside the college.
"Vengeance is still due!"-- said Falloden, towering among them, always with the faithful and grinning Meyrick at his side--"and we will repay.
But now, to our tents! Ta, ta!" And dismissing them all, including Meyrick, he walked off alone in the direction of Holywell.