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Updated: June 26, 2025
You should have gone up to the organist, stated the case, and had another anthem put up." "But, sir, I was expecting Bywater in every minute. I thought he'd be sure to find his surplice somewhere," was Hurst's defence.
"Until what?" asked the bishop, for Bywater had brought his words to a standstill. "Until a more convenient night, I was going to say, my lord." "Well, that's candid," said the bishop. "Bywater," he gravely added, "you have spoken the truth to me freely. Had you equivocated in the slightest degree, I should have punished you for the equivocation.
As the door of that room was last closed and locked, they had not been able to distinguish the particular words, but they both declared that the voice was marvellously like that of Captain Bywater. They were persons of fairly steady nerves, but their situation, all things considered, was solitary and peculiar, and they had not by any means relished these unaccountable manifestations.
Gaunt was only beginning to call over the roll, and they escaped the "late" mark. "It's better to be born lucky than rich," said saucy Bywater. At the same moment Constance Channing was traversing the Boundaries, on her way to Lady Augusta Yorke's, where she had, some days since, commenced her duties.
He threatens to shut up the cloisters." The announcement brought stillness, chagrin. "What a bothering old duffer he is, that dean!" uttered Bywater. "He is always turning up when he's not wanted." "Take your books, and disperse in silence," was the command of the senior boy. "Stop a bit," said Bywater, turning himself round and about for general inspection. "Look at me! Can I go home?"
Stephen Bywater, who took upon himself much of the plot's performance of which, to give him his due, he was boldly capable had been on the watch in the street, near the cathedral, for a messenger that would suit his purpose. Seeing this young damsel hurrying along with a jug in her hand, possibly to buy beer for her home supper, he waylaid her.
They had requisites in abundance, having disputed among themselves which should be at the honour of the contribution, and the result was an undue prodigality of material. "There's seven!" exclaimed Bywater in an agony, as the clock struck. "Make haste, Pierce! the young one was to come out at a quarter past. If you're not ready, it will ruin all."
Jenkins, with her snappish manner, though really not unkind heart, lecturing Jenkins on his various shortcomings until it drew up at their own door. As Jenkins was being helped down from it, one of the college boys passed at a great speed; a railroad was nothing to it. It was Stephen Bywater. Something, legitimate or illegitimate, had detained him, and now the college bell was going.
Bywater had whipped the broken phial out of his pocket, and was handing the smaller piece towards the master. Mr. Pye looked at it curiously. "As I was turning over my surplice, sir, in the vestry, when I found it that day, I saw this bit of glass lying in the wet ink. I thought it belonged to a small ornamental phial, which Gerald Yorke used to keep, about that time, in his pocket, full of ink.
"I say, what d'ye think?" whispered Bywater. "After I had got our sheet smuggled in, all right, and was putting it on the bed, I found two big holes burnt in it. Won't there be a commotion when my old aunt finds it out! She'll vow I have been reading in bed. That was you, Pierce senior!" "I'm sure I never burnt it," retorted Pierce. "It was the flame did it, if anything."
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