Poor May! She got away from the ground and back to the Cromwell Road as best she could, and then to her room to have a good quiet cry by herself. And then she wiped her eyes, and like the brave, plucky girl she was, tried to console herself with the thought that things often looked or sounded worse than they really were, and did her very best to be cheerful, and even fancied that she was succeeding. But certain dark lines under the eyes and other similar symptoms did not escape the notice of the old and faithful Anne, now installed at the Rectory as May's maid and deputy housekeeper, and she shortly confided to the Rector her belief that her darling was fretting, and he in consequence, watching his daughter more narrowly, arrived at the same conclusion.

On that particular morning he had come into the breakfastroom to find his 'Times' lying on the floor and his daughter gazing out of the window into space; and if, as she turned to meet him, the sweet lips made brave attempt to frame a smile of morning greeting, he could not help seeing the tears standing in her eyes and the hopeless misery in her face. A hurried glance at the paper, not so hurried as to prevent his taking in what was troubling her, and even before he had rung the bell to summon the servants to prayers the Rector's mind was made up. Realising for the first time to the full extent the fact that there had come into his daughter's heart that for which girl and boy alike will leave father and mother and in blind trust shower the fresh young love upon a comparative stranger-worthy or unworthy as may hap-he felt that only one course was open to him, felt that he who had preached resignation to the poor folk of Barksworth must not be found wanting now that he himself was called upon to resign the sweet companionship which had become a part of his very existence.

If he hardly spoke to May at breakfast it was only because he was so busy with the thought of the ways and means to secure her happiness.

"The Ferriers are in London still, May?"

"Yes; they are to be there another week."

Then," as he rose and rang the bell, "please send word to the stables that I shall want to catch the ten o'clock train-I must go and write a telegram." And with that he abruptly left the room, and on second thoughts despatched two telegrams to Laurence Ferrier-one at his office and one at his private residence.

Coming up to see you at once at office-urgent."

Half an hour later he was standing on the step of the front door, and it was then that May, who had been helping him to collect hat, umbrella, and so forth for his journey, turning rather sadly away, found her father's arm thrown round her neck and heard her father's voice in her ear.

"Cheer up, my sweet one; things in this world are never so bad that they may not be mended. I shall be back tonight."

Having thus hurriedly rushed off to London with the intention of talking matters out with the lawyer-who, as he knew, was generally in communication with one or other of the two young men- -the Rector, as it may be surmised, was devoutly grateful for the satisfactory information which his chance meeting with his old companion-in-arms had procured for him.

"I would trust Holmes's estimate of a young man against that of any one I know, except, perhaps, Laurence," he murmured to himself on his way to the lawyer's office; "and if Laurence only knows where the young man is, it ought to be all plain sailing."

308

CHAPTER XXIV.

LETTERS.

"ODD that the Bursar should not have sent me a line," remarked Dick Loder, as he sat down to breakfast somewhere about eleven o'clock on the morning after the black-letter day. "I almost thought he would have written."

In ignorance that people from afar had been putting their heads together to restore his fallen fortunes, even in the very hours when all things seemed to be against him, Dick had slept that night as he had never slept since the night before the Schools, when he had gone to bed with the easy conscience of a man who has every reason to be hopeful of success. The sleep from which he had now but lately roused himself had been the sleep not of a man desperate, but rather of one worn out body and soul, to whom nature has at length vouchsafed most sorely needed and most blessed relief. If the young man seemed to himself to have drained to the bitter dregs the cup of disappointment, the proof of loyal and unswerving friendship that Tom M'Gregor had sent him off to bed with, bringing him back to his better self, had acted like a powerful soporific, and brought rest to a sorely troubled spirit.

Looking into his room at eight o'clock in the morning and finding him sleeping like a child, M'Gregor had given orders that he was on no account to be disturbed, had stolen downstairs, eaten a solitary meal, and finally had put under some

papers the one letter that had come for Dick, with the feeling that the latter would probably eat all the better breakfast, when he did elect to come downstairs, if he was not worried by correspondence.

"Clerk of the Schools, I take it," he said to himself as he looked at the Oxford post-mark and failed to identify the handwriting. "You'll keep, my friend."

But when at ten o'clock a telegram arrived for Dick, with a prepaid reply form, Tom was rather put to it to know what to do.

"Shall I take it up to Mr Loder?" inquired the servant.

"Certainly not, and you can tell the boy to go, and take up the answer yourself later. Dash it all!" he went on to himself as the man retired, "I suppose I must wake the fellow after all. But you'll have to wait too, my friend, till he has eaten something."

And accordingly the telegram had gone with the letter, and Tom had reason to congratulate himself on the success of his strategy when his patient finally appeared downstairs and ate a very respectable breakfast. It was only when Dick got to the marmalade stage that he began to wonder why the Bursar had not written.

"Oh, by the way," said Tom, leisurely getting up from his seat and putting down the paper which he was reading, "there is a letter for you somewhere, and a wire. Letter isn't from the Bursar though, at least it is not his writing. Here, catch," and he threw the letter and telegram across the room.

Dick hurriedly tore open the telegram.

"Hulloa!" he exclaimed, "how long has this been here?" "Half an hour or more."

"Well, I must answer it. Ferrier wants me to dine and sleep in London. No particular hurry though. I'll look out a train presently. Now, what's this?" and he opened the

letter.

As he hurriedly for the first time, and then again more carefully, ran through the contents, M'Gregor, watching his face,

and reading thereon first bewilderment and then emotion, almost involuntarily exclaimed

"What is it, old fellow?"

"Only this, look," and handing the letter to M'Gregor, Dick rose abruptly from his chair, and thrusting his hands into his pockets, walked to the window, and so stood there looking at nothing in particular.

The letter was from Lewis, the mathematical lecturer.

Vilely written and badly expressed as it was, there could be no manner of doubt as to the feeling that had prompted it. It ran, or-to be more correct-limped along in short disjointed periods; here and there occurred a wholly undecipherable word, a certain amount seemed to be intentionally left to the imagination :

"Men who deserved did not always win. Examiners as a class were idiots, Morris being a brilliant exception. Classics, of course, not in Morris's line. Pity just now it was so. He would have known. So much prejudice in favour of first-class men, often very inferior specimens, that Mr Loder would not risk rebuff at another college. St Hilary's knew a good man when they got him, though mistakes occasionally occurred. Had often thought himself of resigning fellowship and only keeping lectureship. Good opportunity now if Mr Loder would undertake to stand. A pity Ingram had not held on a bit longer."

By the time M'Gregor had mastered the contents of the letter, Dick, having left his window, was upsetting books right and left in search of 'Bradshaw.' Having at last found it, he turned over the pages rapidly, and presently announced that it would be quite simple to go first to Oxford and thence to London, there being a train to Oxford in an hour's time.

"And what the blazes do you want to go to Oxford for?" inquired M'Gregor.

"Why, to thank Lewis, of course. Oh, Tom, isn't it grand of him? What makes people so awfully kind?"

And he who a few hours ago had been in the very depths of