Free The Judas Tree by A. J. Cronin

once looking up, covering the pages with a flowing legible script. During the next three days, coming and going between the hospital and the University, he took his place at the same desk, set himself to do his utmost, not only for his own sake but for hers.
    Then the clinical examination began. In medicine he spotted his case at once: a bronchiectasis with secondary cerebral abscess. He believed he was doing well. On the last day of the examination he went in for his oral. Drummond, sitting with old Murdo Macleish, Regius Professor of Midwifery, known as the Heiland Stat, and Purvis, the external examiner, gave him a friendly nod, remarking to his colleagues:
    â€˜This is the fellow with the bedside manner.’
    â€˜He’s got rather more than that,’ said Purvis, glancing through Moray’s case-report.
    They began to question him, and Moray – fluent, ready to agree, to smile respectfully, and always, always deferential – felt he was giving of his best. Yet the Stat worried him. This formidable character, both a terror and support to generations of Highland students, was already legendary for his brutal frankness and bawdy humour. At his opening lecture of the session it was his habit to summon some shrinking youth to the floor before the entire class, throw him an end of chalk and, pointing to the blackboard with a grim smile, indicate in the coarsest terms his wish to have a pictoral representation of the female private parts. At present he was not saying much but watching Moray intently, with a suspicious look in his small red eye. However, the interview was soon over and Purvis said with a smile: ‘I don’t think we need keep you.’
    When Moray had gone and the door closed behind him he added: ‘Nice young fellow.’
    The Stot shook himself irritably.
    â€˜Smart enough,’ he grunted. ‘But a bluidy young humbug.’ The other two laughed. At his age, no one took old Murdo seriously.
    The results were to be posted on Saturday morning. As Moray walked up the long hill to the University, all his assurance left him. He had been mistaken, he had not done well, he had failed. He scarcely dared approach the notice-board beside the main archway. Bracketed with two others, his name was at the head of the list. He had passed with honours.
    He felt faint. After all his years of striving and self-denial the triumph of that moment was beyond belief. It was all the greater because of the sweet knowledge that he would soon share it with her. Barely waiting to receive the congratulations of the others gathered round the board, he went directly to the branch post office at the foot of Gilmore Hill and sent off a telegram.
    Arriving Ardfillan 530 p. m. train today.
    He hoped she would have returned from Craigdoran at that hour, and indeed, when he arrived, she was at the station to meet him. Quickly, quickly, her eyes shining, looking pale yet prettier than ever before, she advanced and, breathlessly unheeding of the others on the platform, offered him her lips. If, in these last hectic days, he had forgotten the warm freshness of her kiss, now it was renewed. As they went out of the station and started towards her home he still held her hand. Overcome, neither had so far spoken a single intelligible word. He saw that she dared not ask the question uppermost in her mind, and though he had planned a long and suspenseful recital of his success he merely said, humbly, not looking at her:
    â€˜I’ve passed, Mary … at the top, with honours.’
    A sudden nervous tightening of her fingers on his; then, in a voice stifled by feeling, ‘ I knew you’d do it, Davie dear. But, oh, I’m so glad, so terribly glad you have. Now we can face up to things together.’
    He bent towards her in concern.
    â€˜It’s been difficult for you here?’
    â€˜Not exactly easy.’ She softened the words by a tender upward glance. ‘When I went to tell Walter, at