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hockey, as if tied there. He was outskating them all; only Durant, rushing in at an angle, had a chance to head him off,—Durant and Wallace the goal-keeper.

The three came together squarely in front of the goal, came together and went down in a clashing heap; but even as they fell, St. John’s were shouting triumphantly, for at the very moment of the collision Charles had shot the goal.

When he got up, his nose was bleeding afresh, but he did not mind that. There was only a minute more to play, and the game was practically won. He skated slowly to his position, down the side of the rink; holding his bloody handkerchief to his face, he saw Edward in the front rank of the subdued St. Timothy’s spectators, and Edward’s face was so different from all the others!

It was alight with pride and admiration and love; Charles could not help reading all those things in a glance; it was not darkened by the chagrin and disappointment of defeat. There was not one of the St. John’s Sixth Formers who looked any happier.