For hours I lay awake, a prey to the most dismal reflections.

To do myself justice, my own peril afflicted me at the time--perhaps because I did not realise it--less than Tempest's.

Whether he had blown up the guy or not, things would be sure to look black against him, and my recollection of the episode of Hector's death told me he would come out of it badly.

How, if he had done it, he had contrived to get at the explosives, I could not fathom.

I was sure, even with his grudge against Jarman, he was not the sort of fellow to take a revenge that was either mean or dastardly; and yet--and yet--and yet-- When with one accord we woke next morning it needed no special intimation to be aware that something had happened at Low Heath.
Masters and school attendants were talking in groups in the quadrangle.
Boys were flitting across in the direction of the gymnasium; and seniors in twos and threes were deferring their morning dip and hovering about in serious confabulation.
"Something up ?" said Trimble, with ill-concealed artlessness.