I felt Jack's hand tighten on my arm as the sudden glare fell full upon us, and Hawkesbury's voice cried, "Oh, you fellows, what a start you gave me! I couldn't make out what the talking was.

I thought it must be thieves!" At the same moment the dormitory door opened, and a new glare lit up the scene.

It was Miss Henniker in her dressing-gown, with a candle.
"What, talking?
Who was talking ?" she said, overhearing Hawkesbury's last exclamation.
It was a queer picture that moment, and I can recall it even now.
Hawkesbury standing in his night-shirt in the middle of the room.

I, as lightly clad, crouching transfixed beside my friend's bed, who was sitting up with his hand on my arm.

And the Henniker there at the door, in her yellow-and-black dressing-gown and curl-papers, holding her candle above her head, and looking from one to the other.
"Who was talking ?" she demanded again, turning to Hawkesbury.
Hawkesbury, smiling, returned to his bed, as he replied, "Oh, nothing.
I think I must have been dreaming, and woke in a fright." But as he spoke his eyes turned to us two, and Miss Henniker's followed naturally.