I had put my nose cautiously outside for the purpose of considering the point, when my eyes, thus uncovered, chanced to fasten on the door.
As they did so paralysis once more seized my frame; for, at that precise moment, the door softly opened, and a figure, tall, pale, and familiar, glided noiselessly into the dormitory.
It was Tempest. He stood for a moment with the moonlight on him, and glanced nervously round. Then, apparently satisfied that slumber reigned supreme, he stepped cautiously to his deserted couch. My eyes followed him as the eyes of the fascinated dove follow the serpent. I saw him divest himself of his semi-toilet, and then solemnly wind up his watch, after which he slipped beneath the clothes, and all was silent.
I lay there, moving not a muscle, till the breathing of the truant grew long and heavy, and finally settled down to the regular cadence of sleep. Then I breathed once more myself; my staring eyes gradually drooped; my mind wandered over a large variety of topics, and finally relapsed into the happy condition of thinking of nothing at all.
When I awoke next morning, in obedience to the summons of the bell, the first thing I was aware of was that Tempest was complacently whistling a popular air as he performed his toilet.
“Poor Dux!” thought I, “he little dreams what a terrible night he has had. Good morning, Dux,” I said deferentially.
Tempest went on brushing his hair till he had finished his tune, and then honoured me with a glance and a nod.
Something in my appearance must have attracted his attention, for he looked at me again, and said, “What makes you look so jolly fishy, eh, youngster?”
“Oh,” said I, a little flattered to have my looks remarked upon, “I had a nightmare or something.”
“Comes of eating such a supper as you did,” replied the Dux.