They forgot their own petty quarrels and grievances for the time, and thought of nothing but poor Forrester.
The doctor and Mr Frampton never quitted his room all night.

Boys who, refusing to go to bed, sat anxiously, with their study doors open, eager to catch the first sound proceeding from that solemn chamber, waited in vain, and dropped asleep where they sat as the night gave place to dawn.
Even the masters hovered restlessly about with careworn faces, and full of misgivings as hour passed hour without tidings.
At length--it was about ten o'clock, and the school bell was just beginning to toll for morning chapel--the door opened, and Mr Frampton stepped quickly out of the sick-room.
"Stop the bell at once!" he said.
Then Forrester must still be living! "How is he ?" asked a dozen voices, as the head-master passed down the corridor.
"There is hope," said Mr Frampton, "and, thank God! signs of returning consciousness." And with that grain of comfort wearied Bolsover filed slowly into church.
As Mr Frampton reached his study door he found Scarfe and Farfield waiting for him.
"Well ?" said he wearily, seeing that they had something to say.

"Come in." They followed him into the room.
"Is there really hope ?" said Scarfe, who truly loved the injured boy.
"I think so.

He never moved or showed sign of life, except the beating of his heart, till an hour ago.

Then he moved his head and opened his eyes." "Did he know you, sir ?" "The doctor thinks he did.