Half an hour later Dick Loder was on his knees by his bedside, and this is what he prayed for-that he might soon pass out of May's heart and out of her thoughts, that the shadow of his memory might never come between her and her happiness; that soon some other man, such another as Tom M'Gregor, if there was such another, might take what had been his place in May's affections, loving her as deeply as he himself would ever love her, as deeply loved by her; and that he himself might so live his life through-not a long life, he hoped, but long or short, no matter-as never to do or say that which might misbeseem the man whom May Balfour had once thought worthy of her heart's love.

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CHAPTER XXIII.

EN ROUTE TO LONDON.

"D-N the paper!" exclaimed the Bursar, and with that he flung it out of the window, having previously subjected it to every indignity that he could think of, and maltreated it after a fashion in which that eminently respectable paper, the Morning Post,' is seldom accustomed to find itself maltreated. For the Bursar had rolled it up into a ball, had thrown it on to the floor of the railway carriage, had stamped on it, tried to poke the point of his umbrella through it, and failing in that attempt, had now dismissed it with his blessing. And when he had quite finished all this, having adjusted his spectacles, he pulled out his tobacco, and commencing to fill his big pipe, looked up to see that the only other occupant of the carriage, a man quite as tall though certainly not as substantially built as himself, was regarding him with some little astonishment not unmingled with amusement.

"A parson, too!" muttered the Bursar to himself, "and a non-smoker, too, I'll be bound. What the devil does he want in here?" and then feeling that his late exhibition of temper seemed to call for an apology, he abruptly asked his fellow-passenger whether by any chance he objected to smoking.

"Not in the least, thank you. I am not a smoker myself, and I had only just this minute noticed that I had got into a

smoking-carriage.

moderation."

But I rather like the smell of tobacco in

At the very first word the clergyman had spoken the Bursar had pricked up his ears.

"Seem to know your voice," he thought to himself; and as the other man was now reading the newspaper he took the opportunity of examining him through his spectacles.

"Seem to know your face too, my friend," he muttered, and then by way of satisfying his curiosity on the point of knowing or not knowing his companion he reopened conversation.

"I'm afraid I was rather unkind to that paper," he remarked, "but when a man has been standing at a station, like MarshGibbon, waiting for a train that is nearly an hour late, and then has only just time to hustle across the platform at Bletchley to catch his train, and thinks himself lucky to be able to snatch a paper, only to open it at the one-eh!" he just managed to swallow the expletive-" thing he has known for a month, and didn't want to know at all, it is rather trying to the temper."

"Stale news," said the other with a smile, "is never interesting, and commonly annoying. I hope it was nothing very serious."

"Serious! very serious for a poor boy I know-such a nice lad, too. As safe a first-class as ever went into the Schools, and now here he is with a third."

"Oh, indeed, and how, may I ask?" and the clergyman's tone betrayed a certain amount of interest as well as of polite sympathy.

"Knocked flat by influenza in the middle of the examination. He should have gone to bed by rights instead of sticking to it. A University man yourself by any chance?"

"Oh yes, I was at Oxford."

"Oxford Corpus? Lionel Balfour? Lionel Balfour it is, or my name is not Holmes. Why, Balfour, my dear old man, how are you?" and in a minute the two old 'Varsity oarsmen, who had rowed in the boat together nearer forty than thirty years ago, were shaking hands with all the heartiness

of their old-time friendship. They rowed every inch of the course again in company, they went long training walks together, they did not even forget to condemn the coxswain who had very nearly fouled a stationary barge, and the train had made its last stop, before Willesden, at Harrow before they returned to the original subject of conversation.

"And what about your young friend, Holmes?"

"Oh, young Loder? A cruel case, a cruel case. Just listen;" and the Bursar rapidly sketched the young scholar's career, laying no small stress upon the way in which Dick had in the last eighteen months buckled to his work, leaving no stone unturned to achieve success. "And the lad," he said in conclusion, "had set his heart on getting a fellowship, and now has as much chance as the man in the moon. Of course if we had a vacancy ourselves there would be no question about it. We should elect him straight off, if the devil himself stood against him. But you know what d-d fools other people are, Balfour."

"And what very forcible language is required for them!" said the Rector of Barksworth, laughing. "Oh dear, Willesden, and I must get out. Good-bye, my dear Holmes, so glad to have met you again. Your conversation has been most interesting."

But how had these two old acquaintances foregathered in the train? How the Bursar got there is a very simple story. He had been staying on at Oxford, busy with accounts, and finding it necessary to pay a visit to some farms belonging to the College a few miles beyond Bicester, had stopped the night with an ex-Fellow who held a College living, and was travelling back to Oxford via London, where he had an appointment with the Charity Commissioners.

And Mr Balfour? It had long been evident to the Rector of Barksworth that his daughter's affections were indeed deeply engaged, and that neither absence nor silence had in any way shaken her allegiance to the young man who had so audaciously attacked him in his study and asked for his daughter's hand.

True, father and daughter had avoided the subject by mutual consent, and now that Loders was no longer occupied by the family there was no reason why the young man's name should ever be mentioned. May had gone about her ordinary household duties with cheerful composure, had abated not one whit of her sweet affection for her father, had spent and thoroughly enjoyed two London seasons under Mrs Ferrier's wing, and had been universally admired. Beyond the bounds, however, of legitimate admiration no one among the many young men who swore by the girl's beauty and felt the attraction of her presence had ever been either encouraged or permitted to trespass. Other men might enjoy the privilege of Miss Balfour's friendship; one, and one alone, had ever really touched her heart.

"Deuced pretty girl, you know, old chap; but she hasn't got the faintest idea how to flirt." And the young gentleman who made this discovery was by no means singular in his views regarding May's incapacity or unwillingness to play with edged tools.

Yes, in his inner consciousness was ever present to Mr Balfour the conviction that his daughter intended to hold fast by her lover, and at the same time he was no less certain that the latter had in no form whatever violated the promise given that winter evening in the study at Barksworth that he would hold no communication with the girl until the two years' period of probation had expired. Fairly and squarely had the young man kept his bargain, as fairly and squarely as Mr Balfour, watching the working of his face that night, had argued to himself that it would be kept. And so more than eighteen months had sped away, and within the last fortnight, the last fortnight only, May had shown signs of low spirits and depression. A rumour had reached her ears on the day before she left London chance word overheard at the University match "Loder of Hilary's had muckered his Schools; pity he hadn't played at Lord's instead of worrying about them."

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