It was Crofter, in his new capacity of head of the house, taking his rounds before turning in.
The sight of him brought home to me the injury I had done, not only to Tempest, but the whole house.

For it was my fault, and mine only, that Crofter was at this moment captain of Sharpe's.
To my surprise and alarm, when he came up to my bed he stopped short, and drawing a letter from his pocket, put it into my hand, saying-- "Put that under your pillow till the morning." It was more than nature could do to sleep with a mystery like this on the top of my misery.

I listened to the clock as it struck the hours through the night, and thought the day would never come.

Indeed, the getting-up bell had sounded before the winter sun struggled in through the dormitory window.
Then by the light of a candle I seized the missive from under my pillow and tore it open.
A five-pound note fell out, and with it the following letter.
"You have made a nice mess of it, and ought to be happy.

The least you can do is to try to make things right for Tempest.