"If you pass through that side of the cloisters and turn to the left, you will find the call-room. Mr. Baker is there with the roll, inscribing the new names as they come in, and he will add yours. What is your name?"
"Paradyne."
There was a free, frank sound in the voice, though the words spoken had been but two; and the boy lifted his hat (he would not get his cap and gown for a day or two) with somewhat of foreign courtesy as he turned away to the cloister. Mr. Henry, who had heard the name, hastened after him and overtook him in the cloister passage.
"You are George Paradyne?"
"Yes. And you are——"
"Mr. Henry."
Their hands were locked together; they gazed into each other's face. "I don't think I should have known you," said the boy.
"No? I should have known you anywhere. It is the same face, not changed; but you have grown from a little boy into a great one."
"Your face is changed. It is thinner and paler, and—somehow——"
"Well?" said Mr. Henry, for the sentence had come to a stop midway. "Speak out."