In the upper hall he paused to listen. Naturally it all came out then. She stopped abruptly at the sound of his voice, and lost the thread of what she was saying. "What motive have you for concealment?" he demanded. Blueskin, however, was not unattended. And yet, often when alone, he wondered: had McClintock been wrong, or had she ceased to care in that way? The possibility that she no longer cared should have filled him with unalloyed happiness, whereas it depressed him, cut the natural vanity of youth into shreds and tatters. The black clad students streamed slowly to their positions carrying their instruments like offerings to the pilgrimage. Her lips parted, but no words came.
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