The Prelude to Adventure

flashing Cardillac. There was Bobby Galleon, fat, good-natured, sleepy, intelligent in an odd bovine way. There was Craven, young, ardent, h

pompous. Every now and again word was brought that the gentlemen were making too much noise. The Master might be observed drinki

oss, if you had

chin, rather fat routed cheeks and short brown hair that curled a little. He gave the impression of eager good-temper and friendliness. To-night he looked worried. "I don't

on gravely, "he had an exea

. And the porter hasn't seen him.

his mystery. "Rum fellow, Dune . . . nobody knows him." His high dark colour, his dignity, his courtesy had about it something distinguish

n, dark, handsome leader of fashi

lva, looking up

's kept him to din

doubled under him. It wasn't often that one killed a man with one blow; the signet ring that he wore on

is finger. Robert, an old, old tremb

of wild game, s

se," Olva s

thought, one idea. They would remember everything, the very slightest thing

e was gathering upon him the conviction that in a few minutes, rising from his place, he would cry out to the hall-"I, Olva Dune, this afternoon, killed Car

beef very quietl

ome and make a four-my rooms, half-past ei

im with his grave, ra

to-night, Crav

do it," Car

himself did not hate Cardillac. He was the only man in the College for whom he had respect. They were

n the dark, before he turned on the lights. He spoke aloud

s are going. You've only got a few hours of it. Hold on-Thi

oak-if people came to see him he would rather like it: in some odd way it would be more

"Portrait of Aegidius"-that wise, kind, tender face; the other an admirable photogravure of Durer's "Selbstbildnis." The books were mainly to do with his favourite historical period-the Later Roman Empire. There was some poetry-an edition of Browning, Swinburne's Poems and Ballads, Erne

in the room. Beyond the little diamond-paned windows, beyond the dark mysteries of the Fel

the hanging, baggy cheeks, the white, staring eyes, the glitt

that they had come to arrest him. He stood back from the door with his hand pressing on the table

ook at the golden mist, at the sta

e stood there a large, fat, clumsy, shapeless creature,

he man of Olva's year in whom the world at large found most entertainment. The son of some country clergyman, kicked and battered through the slow, dreary years at some small Public School, he had come up to Saul's with

o coffee; they had made him drunk and laughed at his hysterical tears: in his desire for popularity he had held a gathering in his room, with the original intention of

and whenever it seemed that there was nothing especial to do, the cry arose, "Let's go and rag Bunning," and five minutes later that fat body would trem

e found that the gentlemen of his college who were members of the Christian Union were eager for his company. They did not laugh at his conversation nor mock his proffered hospitalities. They talked to him, persuaded

dity, its ugliness, its uselessness, possible? He had never spoken to Bunning, although he had once received a note from him asking him to coffee-a piece of very cons

way-incredible vision!-was the cre

" said Ol

y into the room and stood there, turnin

-" and ther

you sit

hanks

can I be of

I s

then Bunning's mouth op

stared

what

word-yo

l me what you want I shall do you some bodily damage. I've g

ars. "Oh, yes, I know-it

wondered whether, you know, you'd care-not if you're awfully busy of course-but whether you'd care

nto the heart of West Africa, to invite Olva to consider his soul. He was expecting, poor creature, to be kicked violently down the twisting wooden stairs. On another occasion he would be sent to Lawrence or Cardillac, and then his expectations woul

of a Cardillac or a Carfax. And now Bunning-Bunning of all people in this ridiculous world-had ventured. Well, there was pluck necessa

f his life had been spent. . . . Moreover, might there not be something behind this business? Might he not, perhaps, be shown to-night some clue to the presence of that Power that had spoken to him

a Bunning have been show

t mind sitting down and smoking for a quarter of a

as amusing. He dropped his cap, stopped to pic

d, mysterious man in the college-Dune, whose sarcastic smile was considered more terrifying than Lawrence's mailed fist-Dune,

to Dune. Watson Morley, the Christian Union man, had insisted that it was his duty and therefore he ha

ked unwillingly because it was the manly thing to do, spurted some Apollinaris into a glass and over the ta

aying there in his rooms and talking instead of going to Little St. Agnes and listening to the Reverend Med. Tet

"I'm ready, let's