“To think,” she said, “that I should hae a real leevin’ first bursar in my attic! Eh! sirs, it’s a high, high honour. But noo for your tay, for ye maun be famished.”
. . . . . .
That evening spent at the Provost’s house was like many others, very shortsome and pleasant, and even very merry. A great cloud had rolled off the firmament of Sandie’s existence. His mental sky was clear. The future was all bright and hopeful, and he was happy. But his happiness was not permitted to last unalloyed all that evening. He had bidden his friends good-night, and Willie and he had walked up on to the Castle-gate to feast their eyes on the four long chains of light that, starting from here at right angles, go sweeping along Union Street and King Street, the houses on each side looking like mansions of marble under the stars, now so sweetly shining.
As they still stood looking and admiring, Sandie humming a song the while, their attention was attracted to a little crowd like a procession that had just rounded the corner of Market Street, and were coming onwards in their direction. They went straight away to meet it, and soon found that the centre of the crowd consisted of four policemen bearing a stretcher, on which lay a form, still in death, and covered over with a black cloth.
Willie sought explanations from some of the crowd. All they could tell him was that the body had been taken out of the harbour. It was that of a young man and supposed to be a student.
The body was taken to the station and to the dead-house.
“I think,” said Willie to a superintendent, “that I and my friend—we are both students—can identify the body, if it be a student, for either he or I know them all.”
“Well, come along, lads,” said the officer.
He led them to the gloomy room, and still more gloomy table, whereon the body lay.
With scant ceremony the officer pulled off the cloth.