Of course, there's the second-eleven practices still going on for the Templeton match, but I'll turn up here all the same." Riddell took a turn or two in silence.

What was he to do?
A word from him, he felt, could ruin this boy before all Willoughby, and possibly disgrace him for life.
He, Riddell, as captain of the school, seemed to have a clear duty in the matter.

Had the culprit been any _one else_--had it been Silk, for instance, or Gilks--would he have hung back?
He knew he would not, painful as the task would be.

The honour of the school was in question, and he had no right to palter with that.
Yet how could he deal thus with young Wyndham ?--his friend's brother, the fellow he cared for most in Willoughby, over whose struggles he had watched so anxiously, and for whom, now, better resolves and honest ambitions were opening up so cheery a prospect.

How could he do it?
Was there no chance that after all he might be mistaken?
Alas! that cruel knife and the memory of that evening crushed out the hope.