CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
THE SECRET OUT.
"If you please, sir, would you mind coming to see one of the young gentlemen in our house before you start?
He don't seem himself." The speaker was Mrs Phillips, the dame of Bickers's house, and the individual she addressed was Mark Railsford, who, with his portmanteau on the steps beside him, was impatiently awaiting the cab which should take him from Grandcourt for the Easter holidays.

The place was as empty and deserted as on that well-remembered day when he came down-- could it be only the beginning of this present term ?--to enter upon his new duties at the school.

The boys, as was their wont, had almost without exception left by the eight o'clock train, Arthur and Dig being among the foremost.

The few who had remained to finish their packing had followed by the ten o'clock.

The doctor and his niece had left for town last night; the other masters had made an early start that morning; and Railsford, junior master, and consequently officer of the guard for the day, imagined himself, as he stood there with his portmanteau about two o'clock, the "last of the Mohicans." "Who is it ?" he said, as the cab rumbled through the gateway.
"It's Mr Branscombe, sir.