"Really! I wish I could help you," said my aunt with a very insinuating

smile.

"Oh," said I, "what made me anxious to know who she was at the time, was

simply that I saw her talking to an old friend of mine, whom you know

something of, I believe; did you not meet Mr Ormiston somewhere last

winter?"

"Mr Ormiston! oh, I saw him there last night! and now I know who you

mean; it must have been Mary Russell, of course; she did wear pearls,

and plain white muslin."

"Russell!--what Russells are they?"

"Russell the banker's daughter; I suppose nobody knows how many

thousands she'll have; but she is a very odd girl. Mr Ormiston is rather

committed in that quarter, I fancy. Ah, he's a very gentlemanly man,

certainly, and an old friend of the family; but that match would never

do. Why, he must be ten years older than she is, in the first place, and

hasn't a penny that I know of except his fellowship. No, no; she refused

Sir John Maynard last winter, with a clear twelve thousand a-year; and

angry enough her papa was about that, everybody says, though he never

contradicts her; but she never will venture upon such a silly thing as a

match with Mr Ormiston."

"Won't she?" said I mechanically, not having had time to collect my

thoughts exactly.

"To be sure she won't," replied my aunt rather sharply. It certainly

struck me that Mary Russell, from what her brother had told me, was a

person very likely to show some little disregard of any conventional

notions of what was, or what was not desirable in the matter of

matrimony; but at the same time I inclined to agree with my aunt, that

it was not very probable she would become Mrs Ormiston; indeed, I

doubted any very serious intentions on his part. Fellows of colleges are

usually somewhat lavish of admiration and attentions; but, as many young

ladies know, very difficult to bring to book. Ormiston was certainly not

a man to be influenced by the fortune which the banker's daughter might

reasonably be credited with; if anything made the matter seem serious,

it was that his opinion of the sex in general--as thrown out in an

occasional hint or sarcasm--seemed to border on a supercilious contempt.

I did not meet Miss Russell again during my short stay in town; but two

or three days after this conversation, in turning the corner of the

street, I came suddenly upon Ormiston. I used to flatter myself with

being rather a favourite of his--not from any conscious merit on my

part, unless that, during the year of his deanship, when summoned before

him for any small atrocities, and called to account for them, I never

took up his time or my own by any of the usual somewhat questionable

excuses, but awaited my fate, whether "imposition" or reprimand, in

silence--a plan which, with him, answered very well, and saved

occasionally some straining of conscience on one side, and credulity on

the other. I tried it with his successor, who decided that I was

contumacious, because, the first time I was absent from chapel, in reply

to his interrogations I answered nothing, and upon his persevering, told

him that I had been at a very late supper-party the night before. I

think, then, I was rather a favourite of Ormiston's. To say that he was

a favourite of mine would be saying very little; for there could have

been scarcely a man in college, of any degree of respectability, who

would not have been ready to say the same. No man had a higher regard

for the due maintenance of discipline, or his own dignity, and the

reputation of the college; yet nowhere among the seniors could the

undergraduate find a more judicious or a kinder friend. He had the art

of mixing with them occasionally with all the unreservedness of an

equal, without for a moment endangering the respect due to his position.

There was no man you could ask a favour of--even if it infringed a

little upon the strictness of college regulations--so readily as

Ormiston; and no one appeared to retain more thoroughly some of his

boyish tastes and recollections. He subscribed his five guineas to the

boat, even after a majority of the fellows had induced our good old

Principal, whose annual appearance at the river-side to cheer her at the

races had seemed almost a part of his office, to promulgate a decree to

the purport that boat-racing was immoral, and that no man engaged

therein should find favour in the sight of the authorities. Yet, at the

same time, Ormiston could give grave advice when needed; and give it

in such a manner, that the most thoughtless among us received it as

from a friend. And whenever he did administer a few words of pointed

rebuke--and he did not spare it when any really discreditable conduct

came under his notice--they fell the more heavily upon the delinquent,

because the public sympathy was sure to be on the side of the judge.

The art of governing young men is a difficult one, no doubt; but it is

surprising that so few take any pains to acquire it. There were very few

Ormistons, in my time, in the high places in Oxford.

On that morning, however, Ormiston met me with evident embarrassment, if

not with coolness. He started when he first saw me, and, had there been

a chance of doing so with decency, looked as if he would have pretended

not to recognise me. But we were too near for that, and our eyes met at

once. I was really very glad to see him, and not at all inclined to

be content with the short "How d'ye do?" so unlike his usual cordial

greetings, with which he was endeavouring to hurry on; and there was a

little curiosity afloat among my other feelings. So I fairly stopped him

with a few of the usual inquiries, as to how long he had been in town,

&c., and then plunged at once into the affair of the ball at which we

had last met. He interrupted me at once.

"By the way," said he, "have you heard of poor Russell's business?"

I actually shuddered, for I scarcely knew what was to follow. As

composedly as I could, I simply said, "No."

"His father is ruined, they say--absolutely ruined. I suppose _that_ is

no secret by this time, at all events. He cannot possibly pay even a

shilling in the pound."

"I'm very sorry indeed to hear it," was all I could say.

"But do you know, Hawthorne," continued Ormiston, taking my arm with

something like his old manner, and no longer showing any anxiety to cut

short our interview, "I am afraid this is not the worst of it. There

is a report in the city this morning, I was told, that Mr Russell's

character is implicated by some rather unbusinesslike transactions.

I believe you are a friend of poor Russell's, and for that reason I

mention it to you in confidence. He may not be aware of it; but the

rumour is, that his father _dare_ not show himself again here: that he

has left England I know to be a fact."

"And his daughter?--Miss Russell?" I asked involuntarily--"his children,

I mean--where are they?"

I thought Ormiston's colour heightened; but he was not a man to show

much visible emotion. "Charles Russell and his sister are still in

London," he replied; "I have just seen them. They know their father has

left for the Continent; I hope they do _not_ know all the reasons. I am

very sincerely sorry for young Russell; it will be a heavy blow to him,

and I fear he will find his circumstances bitterly changed. Of course he

will have to leave Oxford."

"I suppose so," said I; "no one can feel more for him than I do. It was

well, perhaps, that this did not happen in term time."

"It has spared him some mortification, certainly. You will see him,

perhaps, before you leave town; he will take it kind. And if you have

any influence with him--(he will be inclined to listen just now to you,

perhaps, more than to me; being more of his own age, he will give you

credit for entering into his feelings)--do try and dissuade him from

forming any wild schemes, to which he seems rather inclined. He has some

kind friends, no doubt; and remember, if there is anything in which I

can be of use to him, he shall have my aid even to the half of my

kingdom--that is, my tutorship."

And with a smile and tone which seemed a mixture of jest and earnest, Mr

Ormiston wished me good-morning. He was to leave for Oxford that night.

Of Russell's address in town I was up to this moment ignorant, but

resolved to find it out, and see him before my return to the University.

The next morning, however, a note arrived from him, containing a simple

request that I would call. I found him at the place from which he

wrote--one of those dull quiet streets that lead out of the Strand--in

very humble lodgings; his father's private establishment having been

given up, it appeared, immediately. The moment we met, I saw at once,

as I expected, that the blow which to Ormiston had naturally seemed so

terrible a one--no less than the loss, to a young man, of the wealth,

rank, and prospects in life to which he had been taught to look

forward--had been, in fact, to Russell a merciful relief. The failure of

that long-celebrated and trusted house, which was causing in the public

mind, according to the papers, so much "consternation" and "excitement,"

was to him a consummation long foreseen, and scarcely dreaded. It was

only the shadow of wealth and happiness which he had lost now; its

substance had vanished long since. And the conscious hollowness and

hypocrisy, as he called it, of his late position, had been a far more

bitter trial to a mind like his, than any which could result from its

exposure. He was one to hail with joy any change which brought him back

to truth and reality, no matter how rude and sudden the revulsion.

He met me with a smile; a really honest, almost a light-hearted smile.

"It is come at last, Hawthorne; perhaps it would be wrong, or I feel as

if I could say, thank God. There is but one point which touches me at

all; what do they say about my father?" I told him--fortunately, my

acquaintance lying but little among men of business, I could tell him so

honestly--that I had heard nothing stated to his discredit.

"Well, well; but they will soon. Oh! Hawthorne; the utter misery, the

curse that money-making brings with it! That joining house to house, and

field to field, how it corrupts all the better part of a man's nature! I

vow to you, I believe my father would have been an honest man if he had

but been a poor one! If he had never had anything to do with interest

tables, and had but spent his capital, instead of trying to double and

redouble it! One thing I have to thank him for; that he never would

suffer me to imbibe any taste for business; he knew the evil and the

pollution money-handling brings with it--I am sure he did; he encouraged

me, I fear, in extravagance; but I bless him that he never encouraged me

in covetousness."

He grew a little calmer by degrees, and we sat down and took counsel as

to his future plans. He was not, of course, without friends, and had

already had many offers of assistance for himself and his sister; but

his heart appeared, for the present, firmly bent upon independence. Much

to my surprise, he decided on returning at once to Oxford, and reading

for his degree. His sister had some little property settled upon

her--some hundred and fifty pounds a-year; and this she had insisted on

devoting to this purpose.

"I love her too well," said Russell, "to refuse her: and trifling as

this sum is,--I remember the time when I should have thought it little

to keep me in gloves and handkerchiefs--yet, with management, it

will be more than I shall spend in Oxford. Of course, I play the

gentleman-commoner no longer; I shall descend to the plain stuff gown."

"You'll go to a hall, of course?" said I; for I concluded he would at

least avoid the mortification of so palpable a confession of reduced

circumstances as this degradation of rank in his old college would be.

"I can see no occasion for it; that is, if they will allow me to change;

I have done nothing to be ashamed of, and shall be much happier than I

was before. I only strike my false colours; and you know they were never

carried willingly."

I did not attempt to dissuade him, and soon after rose to take my leave.

"I cannot ask my sister to see you now," he said, as we shook hands:

"she is not equal to it. But some other time, I hope"----

"At any other time, I shall be most proud of the introduction. By the

way, have you seen Ormiston? He met me this morning, and sent some kind

messages, to offer any service in his power."

"He did, did he?"

"Yes; and, depend upon it, he will do all he can for you in college; you

don't know him very well, I think; but I am sure he takes an interest in

you now, at all events," I continued, "and no man is a more sincere and

zealous friend."

"I beg your pardon, Hawthorne, but I fancy I _do_ know Mr Ormiston very

well."

"Oh! I remember, there seemed some coolness between you, because you

never would accept his invitations. Ormiston thought you were too proud

to dine with him; and then _his_ pride, which he has his share of, took

fire. But that misunderstanding must be all over now."

"My dear Hawthorne, I believe Mr Ormiston and I understand each other

perfectly. Good-morning; I am sorry to seem abrupt, but I have a host of

things, not the most agreeable, to attend to."

It seemed quite evident that there was some little prejudice on

Russell's part against Ormiston. Possibly he did not like his attentions

to his sister. But that was no business of mine, and I knew the other

too well to doubt his earnest wish to aid and encourage a man of

Russell's high principles, and in his unfortunate position. None of us

always know our best friends.

The step which Russell had resolved on taking was, of course, an

unusual one. Even the college authorities strongly advised him to

remove his name to the books of one of the halls, where he would enter

comparatively as a stranger, and where his altered position would not

entail so many painful feelings. Every facility was offered him of doing

so at one of them where a relative of our Principal's was the head,

and even a saving in expense might thus be effected. But this evident

kindness and consideration on their part, only confirmed him in the

resolution of remaining where he was. He met their representations with

the graceful reply, that he had an attachment to the college which did

not depend upon the rank he held in it, and that he trusted he should

not be turned out of two homes at once. Even the heart of the splenetic

little vice-principal was moved by this genuine tribute to the venerable

walls, which to him, as his mistress's girdle to the poet, encircled all

he loved, or hoped, or cared for; and had the date been some century

earlier--in those remarkable times when a certain fellow was said to

have owed his election into that body to a wondrous knack he had at

compounding sherry-posset--it is probable Charles Russell would have

stepped into a fellowship by special license at once.

He had harder work before him, however, and he set stoutly to it. He got

permission to lodge out of college--a privilege quite unusual, and

apparently without any sufficient object in his case. A day or two after

his return, he begged me to go with him to see the rooms he had taken:

and I was surprised to find that although small, and not in a good part

of the town, they were furnished in a style by no means, I thought, in

accordance with the strict economy I knew him to be practising in every

other respect. They contained, on a small scale, all the appointments of

a lady's drawing-room. It was soon explained. His sister was coming to

live with him. "We are but two, now," said Russell in explanation; "and

though poor Mary has been offered what might have been a comfortable

home elsewhere, which perhaps would have been more prudent, we both

thought, why should we be separated? As to these little things you see,

they are nearly all hers: we offered them to the creditors, but even the

lawyers would not touch them: and here Mary and I shall live. Very

strange, you think, for her to be here in Oxford with no one to take

care of her but me; but she does not mind that, and we shall be

together. However, Hawthorne, we shall keep a dragon: there is an old

housekeeper who would not be turned off, and she comes down with Mary,

and may pass for her aunt, if that's all; so don't, pray, be shocked at

us."

And so the old housekeeper did come down, and Mary with her; and under

such guardianship, a brother and an old servant, was that fair girl

installed within the perilous precincts of the University of Oxford;

perilous in more senses than one, as many a speculative and disappointed

mamma can testify, whose daughters, brought to market at the annual

"show" at commemoration, have left uncaught those dons of dignity, and

heirs-apparent of property, whom they ought to have caught, and caught

those well-dressed and good-looking, but undesirable young men, whom

they ought not to have caught. Mary Russell, however, was in little

peril herself, and, as little as she could help it, an occasion of peril

to others. Seldom did she move out from her humble abode, except for an

early morning walk with her brother, or sometimes leaning on the arm of

her old domestic, so plainly dressed that you might have mistaken her

for her daughter, and wondered how those intensely expressive features,

and queen-like graces, should have been bestowed by nature on one so

humble. Many a thoughtful student, pacing slowly the parks or

Christchurch meadow after early chapel, book in hand, cheating himself

into the vain idea that he was taking a healthful walk, and roused by

the flutter of approaching female dress, and unwillingly looking up to

avoid the possible and unwelcome collision with a smirking nurse-maid

and an unresisting baby--has met those eyes, and spoilt his reading for

the morning; or has paused in the running tour of Headington hill, or

Magdalen walk (by which he was endeavouring to cram his whole allotted

animal exercise for the day into an hour), as that sweet vision crossed

his path, and wondered in his heart by what happy tie of relationship,

or still dearer claim, his fellow-undergraduate had secured to himself

so lovely a companion; and has tried in vain, over his solitary

breakfast, to rid himself of the heterodox notion which would still

creep in upon his thoughts, that in the world there might be, after all,

things better worth living and working for, prizes more valuable--and

perhaps not harder to win--than a first class, and living impersonations

of the beautiful which Aristotle had unaccountably left out. Forgive me,

dear reader, if I seem to be somewhat sentimental: I am not, and I

honestly believe I never was, in love with Mary Russell; I am not--I

fear I never was or shall be--much of a reading man or an early riser;

but I will confess, it would have been a great inducement to me to adopt

such habits, if I could have insured such pleasant company in my morning

walks.

To the general world of Oxford, for a long time, I have no doubt the

very existence of such a jewel within it was unknown; for at the hours

when liberated tutors and idle undergraduates are wont to walk abroad,

Mary was sitting, hid within a little ambush of geraniums, either busy

at her work, or helping--as she loved to fancy she helped him--her

brother at his studies. Few men, I believe, ever worked harder than

Russell did in his last year. With the exception of the occasional early

walk, and the necessary attendance at chapel and lecture, he read hard

nearly the whole day; and I always attributed the fact of his being able

to do so with comparatively little effort, and no injury to his health,

to his having such a sweet face always present, to turn his eyes upon,

when wearied with a page of Greek, and such a kind voice always ready to

speak or to be silent.

It was not for want of access to any other society that Mary Russell

spent her time so constantly with her brother. The Principal, with his

usual kind-heartedness, had insisted--a thing he seldom did--upon his

lady making her acquaintance; and though Mrs Meredith, who plumed

herself much upon her dignity, had made some show of resistance at first

to calling upon a young lady who was living in lodgings by herself in

one of the most out-of-the-way streets in Oxford, yet, after her first

interview with Miss Russell, so much did her sweetness of manner win

upon Mrs Principal's fancy--or perhaps it will be doing that lady but

justice to say, so much did her more than orphan unprotectedness and

changed fortunes soften the woman's heart that beat beneath that

formidable exterior of silk and ceremony, that before the first ten

minutes of what had been intended as a very condescending and very

formal call were over, she had been offered a seat in Mrs Meredith's

official pew in St Mary's; the pattern of a mysterious bag, which that

good lady carried everywhere about with her, it was believed for no

other purpose; and an airing the next day behind the fat old greys,

which their affectionate coachman--in commemoration of his master's

having purchased them at the time he held that dignity--always called by

the name of the "Vice-Chancellors." Possibly an absurd incident, which

Mary related with great glee to her brother and myself, had helped to

thaw the ice in which "our governess" usually encased herself. When the

little girl belonging to the lodgings opened the door to these dignified

visitors, upon being informed that Miss Russell was at home, the

Principal gave the name simply as "Dr and Mrs Meredith:" which, not

appearing to his more pompous half at all calculated to convey a due

impression of the honour conveyed by the visit, she corrected him, and

in a tone quite audible--as indeed every word of the conversation

had been--up the half-dozen steep stairs which led to the little

drawing-room, gave out "the Master of ---- and lady, if you please." The

word "master" was quite within the comprehension of the little domestic,

and dropping an additional courtesy of respect to an office which

reminded her of her catechism and the Sunday school, she selected the

appropriate feminine from her own vocabulary, and threw open the door

with "the master and mistress of ----, if you please, Miss." Dr Meredith

laughed, as he entered, so heartily, that even Mary could not help

smiling, and the "mistress," seeing the odds against her, smiled too. An

acquaintance begun in such good humour, could hardly assume a very

formal character; and, in fact, had Mary Russell not resolutely declined

all society, Mrs Meredith would have felt rather a pleasure in

patronising her. But both her straitened means and the painful

circumstances of her position--her father already spoken of almost as

a criminal--led her to court strict retirement; while she clung with

redoubled affection to her brother. He, on his part, seemed to have

improved in health and spirits since his change of fortunes; the

apparent haughtiness and coldness with which many had charged him

before, had quite vanished; he showed no embarrassment, far less any

consciousness of degradation, in his conversation with any of his

old messmates at the gentlemen-commoners' table; and, though his

communication with the college was but comparatively slight, nearly all

his time being spent in his lodgings, he was becoming quite a popular

character.

Meanwhile, a change of a different kind seemed to be coming over

Ormiston. It was remarked, even by those not much given to observation,

that his lectures, which were once considered endurable, even by idle

men, from his happy talent of remark and illustration, were fast

becoming as dull and uninteresting as the common run of all such

business. Moreover, he had been in the habit of giving, occasionally,

capital dinners, invitations to which were sent out frequently and

widely among the young men of his own college; these ceased almost

entirely; or, when they occurred, had but the shadow of their former

joyousness. Even some of the fellows were known to have remarked that

Ormiston was much altered lately; some said he was engaged to be

married--a misfortune which would account for any imaginable

eccentricities; but one of the best of the college livings falling

vacant about the time, and, on its refusal by the two senior fellows,

coming within Ormiston's acceptance, and being passed by him, tended

very much to do away with any suspicion of that kind.

Between him and Russell there was an evident coolness, though noticed by

few men but myself; yet Ormiston always spoke most kindly of him, while

on Russell's part there seemed to be a feeling almost approaching to

bitterness, ill concealed, whenever the tutor became the subject of

conversation. I pressed him once or twice upon the subject, but he

always affected to misunderstand me, or laughed off any sarcastic remark

he might have made, as meaning nothing; so that at last the name was

seldom mentioned between us, and almost the only point on which we

differed seemed to be our estimation of Ormiston.

CHAPTER II.

It was the last night of the boat-races. All Oxford, town and gown, was

on the move between Iffley and Christchurch meadow. The reading man had

left his ethics only half understood, the rowing man his bottle more

than half finished, to enjoy as beautiful a summer evening as ever

gladdened the banks of Isis. One continued heterogeneous living stream

was pouring on from St "_Ole's_" to King's barge, and thence across the

river in punts, down to the starting-place by the lasher. One moment

your tailor puffed a cigar in your face, and the next, just as you made

some critical remark to your companion on the pretty girl you just

passed, and turned round to catch a second glimpse of her, you trod on

the toes of your college tutor. The contest that evening was of more

than ordinary interest. The new Oriel boat, a London-built clipper, an

innovation in those days, had bumped its other competitor easily in the

previous race, and only Christchurch now stood between her and the head

of the river. And would they, could they, bump Christchurch to-night?

That was the question to which, for the time being, the coming

examination and the coming St Leger both gave way. Christchurch, that

had not been bumped for ten years before--whose old blue and white flag

stuck at the top of the mast as if it had been nailed there--whose motto

on the river had so long been "Nulli secundus?" It was an important

question, and the Christchurch men evidently thought so. Steersman

and pullers had been summoned up from the country, as soon as that

impertinent new boat had begun to show symptoms of being a dangerous

antagonist, by the rapid progress she was making from the bottom towards

the head of the racing-boats. The old heroes of bygone contests were

enlisted again, like the Roman legionaries, to fight the battles of

their _vexillum_, the little three-cornered bit of blue-and-white silk

before mentioned; and the whole betting society of Oxford were divided

into two great parties, the Oriel and the Christchurch,--the supporters

of the old, or of the new dynasty of eight oars.

Never was signal more impatiently waited for than the pistol-shot which

was to set the boats in motion that night. Hark! "Gentlemen,

are--you--ready?" "No, no!" shouts some umpire, dissatisfied with the

position of his own boat at the moment. "Gentlemen, are--you--ready?"

Again "No, no, no!" How provoking! Christchurch and Oriel both

beautifully placed, and that provoking Exeter, or Worcester, or some

boat that no one but its own crew takes the slightest interest in

to-night, right across the river! And it will be getting dusk soon. Once

more--and even Wyatt, the starter, is getting impatient--"Are you

ready?" Still a cry of "No, no," from some crew who evidently never will

be satisfied. But there goes the pistol. They're off, by all that's

glorious! "Now Oriel!" "Now Christchurch!" Hurrah! beautifully are both

boats pulled--how they lash along the water! Oriel gains evidently! But

they have not got into their speed yet, and the light boat has the best

of it at starting. "Hurrah, Oriel, it's all your own way!" "Now,

Christchurch, away with her!" Scarcely is an eye turned on the boats

behind; and, indeed, the two first are going fast away from them. They

reach the Gut, and at the turn Oriel presses her rival hard. The cheers

are deafening; bets are three to one. She must bump her! "Now,

Christchurch, go to work in the straight water!" Never did a crew pull

so well, and never at such a disadvantage. Their boat is a tub compared

with the Oriel. See how she buries her bow at every stroke. Hurrah,

Christchurch! The old boat for ever! Those last three strokes gained a

yard on Oriel! She holds her own still! Away they go, those old steady

practised oars, with that long slashing stroke, and the strength and

pluck begins to tell. Well pulled, Oriel! Now for it! Not an oar out of

time, but as true together as a set of teeth! But it won't do! Still

Christchurch, by sheer dint of muscle, keeps her distance, and the old

flag floats triumphant yet another year.

Nearly hustled to death in the rush up with the racing boats, I panted

into the stern sheets of a four-oar lying under the bank, in which I saw

Leicester and some others of my acquaintance. "Well, Horace," said I,

"what do you think of Christchurch now?" (I had sufficient Tory

principle about me at all times to be a zealous supporter of the "old

cause," even in the matter of boat-racing.) "How are your bets upon the

London clipper, eh?" "Lost, by Jove," said he; "but Oriel ought to have

done it to-night; why, they bumped all the other boats easily, and

Christchurch was not so much better; but it was the old oars coming up

from the country that did it. But what on earth is all that rush about

up by the barges? They surely are not going to fight it out after all?"

Something had evidently occurred which was causing great confusion; the

cheering a moment before had been deafening from the partisans of

Christchurch, as the victorious crew, pale and exhausted with the

prodigious efforts they had made, mustered their last strength to throw

their oars aloft in triumph, and then slowly, one by one, ascended into

the house-boat which formed their floating dressing-room; it had now

suddenly ceased, and confused shouts and murmurs, rather of alarm than

of triumph, were heard instead: men were running to and fro on both

banks of the river, but the crowd both in the boats on the river and on

shore made it impossible for us to see what was going on. We scrambled

up the bank, and were making for the scene of action, when one of the

river-officials ran hastily by in the direction of Iffley.

"What's the matter, Jack?"

"Punt gone down, sir," he replied without stopping; "going for the

drags."

"Anybody drowning?" we shouted after him.

"Don't know how many was in her, sir," sung out Jack in the distance. We

ran on. The confusion was terrible; every one was anxious to be of use,

and more likely therefore to increase the danger. The punt which had

sunk had been, as usual on such occasions, overloaded with men, some of

whom had soon made good their footing on the neighbouring barges; others

were still clinging to their sides, or by their endeavours to raise

themselves into some of the light wherries and four oars, which, with

more zeal than prudence, were crowding to their assistance, were

evidently bringing a new risk upon themselves and their rescuers. Two of

the last of the racing eights, too, coming up to the winning-post at the

moment of the accident, and endeavouring vainly to back water in time,

had run into each other, and lay helplessly across the channel, adding

to the confusion, and preventing the approach of more efficient aid to

the parties in the water. For some minutes it seemed that the disaster

must infallibly extend itself. One boat, whose crew had incautiously

crowded too much to one side, in their eagerness to aid one of the

sufferers in his struggles to get on board, had already been upset,

though fortunately not in the deepest water, so that the men, with a

little assistance, easily got on shore. Hundreds were vociferating

orders and advice, which few could hear, and none attended to. The most

effectual aid that had been rendered was the launching of two large

planks from the University barge, with ropes attached to them, which

several of those who had been immersed succeeded in reaching, and so

were towed safely ashore. Still, however, several were seen struggling

in the water, two or three with evidently relaxing efforts; and the

unfortunate punt, which had righted and come up again, though full of

water, had two of her late passengers clinging to her gunwale, and thus

barely keeping their heads above the water's edge. The watermen had done

their utmost to be of service, but the University men crowded so rashly

into every punt that put off to the aid of their companions, that

their efforts would have been comparatively abortive, had not one

of the pro-proctors jumped into one, with two steady hands, and

authoritatively ordering every man back who attempted to accompany him,

reached the middle of the river, and having rescued those who were in

most imminent danger, succeeded in clearing a sufficient space round the

spot to enable the drags to be used (for it was quite uncertain whether

there might not still be some individuals missing). Loud cheers from

each bank followed this very sensible and seasonable exercise of

authority; another boat, by this example, was enabled to disencumber

herself of superfluous hands, and by their united exertions all who

could be seen in the water were soon picked up and placed in safety.

When the excitement had in some degree subsided, there followed a

suspense which was even more painful, as the drags were slowly moved

again and again across the spot where the accident had taken place.

Happily our alarm proved groundless. One body was recovered, not an

University man, and in his case the means promptly used to restore

animation were successful. But it was not until late in the evening that

the search was given up, and even the next morning it was a sensible

relief to hear that no college had found any of its members missing.

I returned to my rooms as soon as all reasonable apprehension of a fatal

result had subsided, though before the men had left off dragging; and

was somewhat surprised, and at first amused, to recognise, sitting

before the fire in the disguise of my own dressing-gown and slippers,

Charles Russell.

"Hah! Russell, what brings you here at this time of night?" said I;

"however, I'm very glad to see you."

"Well, I'm not sorry to find myself here, I can tell you; I have been in

a less comfortable place to-night."

"What do you mean?" said I, as a suspicion of the truth flashed upon

me--"Surely"----

"I have been in the water, that's all," replied Russell quietly; "don't

be alarmed, my good fellow, I'm all right now. John has made me quite at

home here, you see. We found your clothes a pretty good fit, got up a

capital fire at last, and I was only waiting for you to have some

brandy-and-water. Now, don't look so horrified, pray."

In spite of his good spirits, I thought he looked pale; and I was

somewhat shocked at the danger he had been in--more so from the

suddenness of the information.

"Why," said I, as I began to recall the circumstance, "Leicester and I

came up not two minutes after it happened, and watched nearly every man

that was got out. You could not have been in the water long then, I

hope?"

"Nay, as to that," said Russell, "it seemed long enough to me, I can

tell you, though I don't recollect all of it. I got underneath a punt or

something, which prevented my coming up as soon as I ought."

"How did you get out at last?"

"Why, that I don't quite remember; I found myself on the walk by King's

barge; but they had to turn me upside down, I fancy, to empty me. I'll

take that brandy by itself, Hawthorne, for I think I have the necessary

quantity of water stowed away already."

"Good heavens! don't joke about it; why, what an escape you must have

had!"

"Well, seriously then, Hawthorne, I _have_ had a very narrow escape, for

which I am very thankful; but I don't want to alarm any one about it,

for fear it should reach my sister's ears, which I very much wish to

avoid, for the present at all events. So I came up to your rooms here as

soon as I could walk. Luckily, John saw me down at the water, so I came

up with him, and got rid of a good many civil people who offered their

assistance; and I have sent down to the lodgings to tell Mary I have

staid to supper with you; so I shall get home quietly, and she will know

nothing about this business. Fortunately, she is not in the way of

hearing much Oxford gossip, poor girl!"

Russell sat with me about an hour, and then, as he said he felt very

comfortable, I walked home with him to the door of his lodgings, where I

wished him good night, and returned.

I had intended to have paid him an early visit the next morning; but

somehow I was lazier than usual, and had scarcely bolted my commons in

time to get to lecture. This over, I was returning to my rooms, when my

scout met me.

"Oh, sir," said he, "Mr Smith has just been here, and wanted to see you,

he said, particular."

Mr Smith? Of all the gentlemen there might be of that name in Oxford, I

thought I had not the honour of a personal acquaintance with one.

"Mr Russell's Mr Smith, sir," explained John: "the little gentleman as

used to come to his rooms so often."

I walked up the staircase, ruminating within myself what possible

business "poor Smith" could have with me, of whom he had usually

appeared to entertain a degree of dread. Something to do with Russell,

probably. And I had half resolved to take the opportunity to call upon

him, and try to make out who and what he was, and how he and Russell

came to be so intimately acquainted. I had scarcely stuck old Herodotus

back into his place on the shelf, however, when there came a gentle tap

at the door, and the little Bible-clerk made his appearance. All

diffidence and shyness had wholly vanished from his manner. There was an

earnest expression in his countenance which struck me even before he

spoke. I had scarcely time to utter the most commonplace civility, when,

without attempt at explanation or apology, he broke out with--"Oh, Mr

Hawthorne, have you seen Russell this morning?"

"No," said I, thinking he might possibly have heard some false report of

the late accident--"but he was in my rooms last night, and none the

worse for his wetting."

"Oh, yes, yes! I know that; but pray, come down and see him now--he is

very, very ill, I fear."

"You don't mean it? What on earth is the matter?"

"Oh! he has been in a high fever all last night! and they say he is

worse this morning--Dr Wilson and Mr Lane are both with him--and poor

Miss Russell!--he does not know her--not know his sister; and oh, Mr

Hawthorne, he must be _very_ ill! and they won't let me go to him!"

And poor Smith threw himself into a chair, and fairly burst into tears.

I was very much distressed too: but, at the moment, I really believe I

felt more pity for the poor lad before me, than even apprehension for my

friend Russell. I went up to him, shook his hand, and begged him to

compose himself. Delirium, I assured him--and tried hard to assure

myself--was the usual concomitant of fever, and not at all alarming.

Russell had taken a chill, no doubt, from the unlucky business of the

last evening, but there could not be much danger in so short a time.

"And now, Smith," said I, "just take a glass of wine, and you and I

will go down together, and I dare say we shall find him better by this

time."

"Oh, thank you, thank you," he replied; "you are very kind--very kind

indeed--no wine, thank you--I could not drink it: but oh! if they would

only let me see him! And poor Miss Russell! and no one to attend to him

but her!--but will you come down now directly?"

My own anxiety was not less than his, and in a very few minutes we were

at the door of Russell's lodgings. The answer to our inquiries was, that

he was in much the same state, and that he was to be kept perfectly

quiet; the old housekeeper was in tears; and although she said Dr Wilson

told them he hoped there would be a change for the better soon, it was

evident that poor Russell was at present in imminent danger.

I sent up my compliments to Miss Russell to offer my services in any way

in which they could be made available; but nothing short of the most

intimate acquaintance could have justified any attempt to see her at

present, and we left the house. I thought I should never have got Smith

from the door; he seemed thoroughly overcome. I begged him to come with

me back to my rooms--a Bible-clerk has seldom too many friends in the

University, and it seemed cruel to leave him by himself in such evident

distress of mind. Attached as I was to Russell myself, his undisguised

grief really touched me, and almost made me reproach myself with being

comparatively unfeeling. At any other time, I fear it might have annoyed

me to encounter as I did the inquisitive looks of some of my friends, as

I entered the college gates arm-in-arm with my newly-found and somewhat

strange-looking acquaintance. As it was, the only feeling that arose in

my mind was a degree of indignation that any man should venture to throw

a supercilious glance at him; and if I longed to replace his shabby and

ill-cut coat by something more gentlemanly in appearance, it was for his

sake, and not my own.

And now it was that, for the first time, I learnt the connection that

existed between the Bible-clerk and the quondam gentleman-commoner.

Smith's father had been for many years a confidential clerk in Mr

Russell's bank; for Mr Russell's bank it was solely, the Smith who had

been one of the original partners having died some two generations back,

though the name of the firm, as is not unusual, had been continued

without alteration. The clerk was a poor relation, in some distant

degree, of the some-time partner: his father, too, had been a clerk

before him. By strict carefulness, he had saved some little money during

his many years of hard work: and this, by special favour on the part of

Mr Russell, he had been allowed to invest in the bank capital, and

thereby to receive a higher rate of interest for it than he could

otherwise have obtained. The elder Smith's great ambition--indeed it was

his only ambition--for the prosperity of the bank itself he looked upon

as a law of nature, which did not admit of the feeling of hope, as being

a fixed and immutable certainty--his ambition was to bring up his son as

a gentleman. Mr Russell would have given him a stool and a desk, and he

might have aspired hereafter to his father's situation, which would have

assured him L250 per annum. But somehow the father did not wish the son

to tread in his own steps. Perhaps the close confinement, and

unrefreshing relaxations of a London clerk, had weighed heavily upon his

own youthful spirits: perhaps he was anxious to spare the son of his old

age--for, like a prudent man, he had not married until late in

life--from the unwholesome toils of the counting-house, varied only too

often by the still less wholesome dissipation of the evening. At all

events, his visions for him were not of annually increasing salaries,

and future independence: of probable partnerships, and possible

lord-mayoralties; but of some cottage among green trees, far away in the

quiet country, where, even as a country parson, people would touch their

hats to him as they did to Mr Russell himself, and where, when the time

should come for superannuation and a pension--the house had always

behaved liberally to its old servants--his own last days might be

happily spent in listening to his son's sermons, and smoking his

pipe--if such a thing were lawful--in the porch of the parsonage. So

while the principal was carefully training his heir to enact the

fashionable man at Oxford, and in due time to take his place among the

squires of England, and shunning, as if with a kind of remorseful

conscience, to make him a sharer in his own contaminating speculations;

the humble official too, but from far purer motives, was endeavouring in

his degree, perhaps unconsciously, to deliver his boy from the snares of

Mammon. And when Charles Russell was sent to the University, many were

the inquiries which Smith's anxious parent made, among knowing friends,

about the expenses and advantages of an Oxford education. And various,

according to each individual's sanguine or saturnine temperament, were

the answers he obtained, and tending rather to his bewilderment than

information. One intimate acquaintance assured him, that the necessary

expenses of an undergraduate _need_ not exceed a hundred pounds per

annum: another--he was somewhat of a sporting character--did not believe

any young man could do the thing like a gentleman under five. So Mr

Smith would probably have given up his darling project for his son in

despair, if he had not fortunately thought of consulting Mr Russell

himself upon the point; and that gentleman, though somewhat surprised at

his clerk's aspiring notions, good-naturedly solved the difficulty as

to ways and means, by procuring for his son a Bible-clerk's appointment

at one of the Halls, upon which he could support himself respectably,

with comparatively little pecuniary help from his friends. With his

connections and interest, it was no great stretch of friendly exertion

in behalf of an old and trusted servant; but to the Smiths, father

and son, both the munificence which designed such a favour, and the

influence which could secure it, tended to strengthen if possible their

previous conviction that the power and the bounty of the house of

Russell came within a few degrees of omnipotence. Even now, when recent

events had so fearfully shaken them from this delusion; when the

father's well-earned savings had disappeared in the general wreck with

the hoards of wealthier creditors, and the son was left almost wholly

dependent on the slender proceeds of his humble office; even now, as he

told me the circumstances just mentioned, regret at the ruined fortunes

of his benefactors seemed in a great measure to overpower every personal

feeling. In the case of the younger Russell, indeed, this gratitude was

not misplaced. No sooner was he aware of the critical situation of his

father's affairs, and the probability of their involving all connected

with him, than, even in the midst of his own harassing anxieties, he

turned his attention to the prospects of the young Bible-clerk, whose

means of support, already sufficiently narrow, were likely to be further

straitened in the event of a bankruptcy of the firm. His natural

good-nature had led him to take some little notice of young Smith on his

first entrance at the University, and he knew his merits as a scholar to

be very indifferent. The obscure suburban boarding-school at which he

had been educated, in spite of its high-sounding name--"Minerva House,"

I believe--was no very sufficient preparation for Oxford. Where the

Greek and the washing are both extras at three guineas per annum, one

clean shirt in the week, and one lesson in _Delectus_, are perhaps as

much as can reasonably be expected. Poor Smith had, indeed, a fearful

amount of up-hill work, to qualify himself even for his "little-go."

Charles Russell, not less to his surprise than to his unbounded

gratitude, inasmuch as he was wholly ignorant of his motives for taking

so much trouble, undertook to assist and direct him in his reading: and

Smith, when he had got over his first diffidence, having a good share of

plain natural sense, and hereditary habits of plodding, made more rapid

progress than might have been expected. The frequent visits to Russell's

rooms, whose charitable object neither I nor any one else could have

guessed, had resulted in a very safe pass through his first formidable

ordeal, and he seemed now to have little fear of eventual success for

his degree, with a strong probability of being privileged to starve

upon a curacy thereafter. But for Russell's aid, he would, in all

likelihood, have been remanded from his first examination back to his

father's desk, to the bitter mortification of the old man at the time,

and to become an additional burden to him on the loss at once of his

situation and his little capital.

Poor Smith! it was no wonder that, at the conclusion of his story,

interrupted constantly by broken expressions of gratitude, he wrung his

hands, and called Charles Russell the only friend he had in the world.

"And, oh! if he were to die! Do you think he will die?"

I assured him I hoped and trusted not; and with the view of relieving

his and my own suspense, though it was little more than an hour since we

had left his lodgings, we went down again to make inquiries. The street

door was open, and so was that of the landlady's little parlour, so we

walked in at once. She shook her head in reply to our inquiries. "Dr

Wilson has been up-stairs with him, sir, for the last hour nearly, and

he has sent twice to the druggist's for some things, and I fancy he's no

better at all events."

"How is Miss Russell?" I inquired.

"Oh, sir, she don't take on much--not at all, as I may say; but she

don't speak to nobody, and she don't take nothing: twice I have carried

her up some tea, poor thing, and she just tasted it because I begged

her, and she wouldn't refuse me, I know--but, poor dear young lady! it

is very hard upon her, and she all alone like."

"Will you take up my compliments--Mr Hawthorne--and ask if I can be of

any possible service?" said I, scarce knowing what to say or do. Poor

girl! she was indeed to be pitied; her father ruined, disgraced, and a

fugitive from the law; his only son--the heir of such proud hopes and

expectations once--lying between life and death; her only brother, her

only counsellor and protector, now unable to recognise or to speak to

her--and she so unused to sorrow or hardship, obliged to struggle on

alone, and exert herself to meet the thousand wants and cares of

illness, with the added bitterness of poverty.

The answer to my message was brought back by the old housekeeper, Mrs

Saunders. She shook her head, said her young mistress was very much

obliged, and would be glad if I would call and see her brother

to-morrow, when she hoped he would be better. "But oh, sir!" she added,

"he will never be better any more! I know the doctors don't think so,

but I can't tell her, poor thing--I try to keep her up, sir; but I do

wish some of her own friends were here--she won't write to anybody, and

I don't know the directions"--and she stopped, for her tears were almost

convulsing her.

I could not remain to witness misery which I could do nothing to

relieve; so I took Smith by the arm--for he stood by the door

half-stupified--and proceeded back towards college. He had to mark the

roll at his own chapel that evening; so we parted at the top of the

street, after I had made him promise to come to breakfast with me in the

morning. Russell's illness cast a universal gloom over the college that

evening; and when the answer to our last message, sent down as late as

we could venture to do, was still unfavourable, it was with anxious

anticipation that we awaited any change which the morrow might bring.

The next day passed, and still Russell remained in the same state. He

was in a high fever, and either perfectly unconscious of all around him,

or talking in that incoherent and yet earnest strain, which is more

painful to those who have to listen to and to soothe it than even the

total prostration of the reason. No one was allowed to see him; and his

professional attendants, though they held out hopes founded on his youth

and good constitution, acknowledged that every present symptom was most

unfavourable.

The earliest intelligence on the third morning was, that the patient had

passed a very bad night, and was much the same; but in the course of an

hour or two afterwards, a message came to me to say that Mr Russell

would be glad to see me. I rushed, rather than ran, down to his

lodgings, in a perfect exultation of hope, and was so breathless with

haste and excitement when I arrived there, that I was obliged to pause a

few moments to calm myself before I raised the carefully muffled

knocker. My joy was damped at once by poor Mrs Saunders' mournful

countenance.

"Your master is better, I hope--is he not?" said I.

"I am afraid not, sir; but he is very quiet now: and he knew his poor

dear sister; and then he asked if any one had been to see him, and we

mentioned you, sir; and then he said he should like to see you very

much, and so Miss made bold to send to you--if you please to wait, sir,

I'll tell her you are here."

In a few moments she returned--Miss Russell would see me if I would walk

up.

I followed her into the little drawing-room, and there, very calm and

very pale, sat Mary Russell. Though her brother and myself had now so

long been constant companions, I had seen but very little of her; on the

very few evenings I had spent with Russell at his lodgings she had

merely appeared to make tea for us, had joined but little in the

conversation, and retired almost before the table was cleared. In her

position, this behaviour seemed but natural; and as, in spite of the

attraction of her beauty, there was a shade of that haughtiness and

distance of manner which we had all at first fancied in her brother, I

had begun to feel a respectful kind of admiration for Mary Russell,

tinged, I may now venture to admit--I was barely twenty at the

time--with a slight degree of awe. Her very misfortunes threw over her a

sort of sanctity. She was too beautiful not to rivet the gaze, too noble

and too womanly in her devotion to her brother not to touch the

affections, but too cold and silent--almost as it seemed too sad--to

love. Her brother seldom spoke of her; but when he did, it was in a tone

which showed--what he did not care to conceal--his deep affection and

anxious care for her; he watched her every look and movement whenever

she was present; and if his love erred in any point, it was, that it

seemed possible it might be even too sensitive and jealous for her own

happiness.

The blinds were drawn close down, and the little room was very dark; yet

I could see at a glance the work which anguish had wrought upon her in

the last two days, and, though no tears were to be seen now, they had

left their traces only too plainly. She did not rise, or trust herself

to speak; but she held out her hand to me as if we had been friends from

childhood. And if thorough sympathy, and mutual confidence, and true but

pure affection, make such friendship, then surely we became so from that

moment. I never thought Mary Russell cold again; yet I did not dream of

loving her; she was my sister in everything but the name.

I broke the silence of our painful meeting--painful as it was, yet not

without that inward throb of pleasure which always attends the awakening

of hidden sympathies. What I said I forget; what does one, or can one

say, at such moments, but words utterly meaningless, so far as they

affect to be an expression of what we feel? The hearts understand each

other without language, and with that we must be content.

"He knew me a little while ago," said Mary Russell at last; "and asked

for you; and I knew you would be kind enough to come directly if I

sent."

"Surely it must be a favourable symptom, this return of consciousness?"

"We will hope so: yes, I thought it was; and oh! how glad I was! But Dr

Wilson does not say much, and I fear he thinks him weaker. I will go now

and tell him you are come."

"You can see him now if you please," she said when she returned; "he

seems perfectly sensible still; and when I said you were here, he looked

quite delighted." She turned away, and, for the first time, her emotion

mastered her.

I followed her into her brother's room. He did not look so ill as I

expected; but I saw with great anxiety, as I drew nearer his bed, that

his face was still flushed with fever, and his eye looked wild and

excited. He was evidently, however, at present free from delirium, and

recognised me at once. His sister begged him not to speak much, or ask

questions, reminding him of the physician's strict injunctions with

regard to quiet.

"Dr Wilson forgets, my love, that it is as necessary at least for the

mind to be quiet as the tongue," said Russell with an attempt to smile;

and then, after a pause, he added, as he took my hand, "I wanted to see

you, Hawthorne; I know I am in very great danger; and, once more, I want

to trouble you with a confidence. Nay, nothing very important; and pray,

don't ask me, as I see you are going to do, not to tire myself with

talking: I know what I am going to say, and will try to say it very

shortly; but thinking is at least as bad for me as speaking." He paused

again from weakness; Miss Russell had left the room. I made no reply. He

half rose, and pointed to a writing-desk on a small table, with keys in

the lock. I moved towards it, and opened it, as I understood his

gestures; and brought to him, at his request, a small bundle of letters,

from which he selected one, and gave it me to read. It was a banker's

letter, dated some months back, acknowledging the receipt of three

hundred pounds to Russell's credit, and enclosing the following note:--

"SIR,--Messrs ---- are directed to inform you of the sum of L300

placed to your credit. You will be wrongly advised if you scruple

to use it. If at any time you are enabled, and desire it, it may be

repaid through the same channel.

"ONE OF YOUR FATHER'S CREDITORS."

"I have never touched it," said Russell, as I folded up the note.

"I should have feared you would not," said I.

"But now," he proceeded, "now things seem changed with me. I shall want

money--Mary will; and I shall draw upon this unseen charity; ay, and

gratefully. Poor Mary!"

"You are quite right, my dear Russell," said I, eager to interrupt a

train of thought which I saw would be too much for him. "I will manage

all that for you, and you shall give me the necessary authority till you

get well again yourself," I added in a tone meant to be cheerful.

He took no notice of my remark. "I fear," said he, "I have not been a

wise counsellor to my poor sister. She had kind offers from more than

one of our friends, and might have had a home more suited to her than

this has been, and I allowed her to choose to sacrifice all her own

prospects to mine!"

He turned his face away, and I knew that one painful thought besides was

in his mind--that they had been solely dependent on her little income

for his support at the University since his father's failure.

"Russell," said I gently, "this conversation can surely do no good; why

distress yourself and me unnecessarily? Come, I shall leave you now, or

your sister will scold me. Pray, for all our sakes, try to sleep; you

know how desirable it is, and how much stress Dr Wilson has laid upon

your being kept perfectly calm and quiet."

"I will, Hawthorne, I will try; but oh, I have so much to think of!"

Distressed and anxious, I could only take my leave of him for the

present, feeling how much there was, indeed, in his circumstances to

make rest even more necessary, and more difficult to obtain, for the

mind than for the body.

I had returned to the sitting-room, and was endeavouring to give as

hopeful answers as I could to Miss Russell's anxious inquiries as to

what I thought of her brother, when a card was brought up, with a

message that Mr Ormiston was below, and "would be very glad if he could

see Miss Russell for a few moments, at any hour she would mention, in

the course of the day."

Ormiston! I started, I really did not know why. Miss Russell started

also, visibly; did she know why? Her back was turned to me at the

moment; she had moved, perhaps intentionally, the moment the message

became intelligible, so that I had no opportunity of watching the effect

it produced, which I confess I had an irrepressible anxiety to do. She

was silent until I felt my position becoming awkward: I was rising to

take leave, which perhaps would have made hers even more so, when, half

turning round towards me, with a tone and gesture almost of command, she

said, "Stay!" and then, in reply to the servant, who was still waiting,

"Ask Mr Ormiston to walk up."

I felt the few moments of expectation which ensued to be insufferably

embarrassing. I tried to persuade myself it was my own folly to think

them so. Why should Ormiston _not_ call at the Russells, under such

circumstances? As college tutor, he stood almost in the relation of a

natural guardian to Russell; had he not at least as much right to assume

the privilege of a friend of the family as I had, with the additional

argument, that he was likely to be much more useful in that capacity? He

had known them longer, at all events, and any little coolness between

the brother and himself was not a matter, I felt persuaded, to be

remembered by him at such a moment, or to induce any false punctilio

which might stand in the way of his offering his sympathy and assistance

when required. But the impression on my mind was strong--stronger,

perhaps, than any facts within my knowledge fairly warranted--that

between Ormiston and Mary Russell there either was, or had been,

some feeling which, whether acknowledged or unacknowledged--whether

reciprocal or on one side only--whether crushed by any of those

thousand crosses to which such feelings, fragile as they are precious,

are liable, or only repressed by circumstances and awaiting its

development--would make their meeting under such circumstances not that

of ordinary acquaintances. And once again I rose, and would have gone;

but again Mary Russell's sweet voice--and this time it was an accent

of almost piteous entreaty, so melted and subdued were its tones,

as if her spirit was failing her--begged me to remain--"I have

something--something to consult you about--my brother."

She stopped, for Ormiston's step was at the door. I had naturally--not

from any ungenerous curiosity to scan her feelings--raised my eyes to

her countenance while she spoke to me, and could not but mark that

her emotion amounted almost to agony. Ormiston entered: whatever his

feelings were, he concealed them well; not so readily, however, could he

suppress his evident astonishment, and almost as evident vexation, when

he first noticed my presence: an actor in the drama for whose appearance

he was manifestly unprepared. He approached Miss Russell, who never

moved, with some words of ordinary salutation, but uttered in a low and

earnest tone, and offered his hand, which she took at once, without any

audible reply. Then turning to me, he asked if Russell were any better?

I answered somewhat indefinitely, and Miss Russell, to whom he turned

as for a reply, shook her head, and, sinking into a chair, hid her face

in her hands. Ormiston took a seat close by her, and after a pause of a

moment said,

"I trust your very natural anxiety for your brother makes you inclined

to anticipate more danger than really exists, Miss Russell: but I have

to explain my own intrusion upon you at such a moment"--and he gave me

a glance which was meant to be searching--"I called by the particular

request of the Principal, Dr Meredith."

Miss Russell could venture upon no answer, and he went on, speaking

somewhat hurriedly and with embarrassment.

"Mrs Meredith has been from home some days, and the Principal himself

has the gout severely; he feared you might think it unkind their not

having called, and he begged me to be his deputy. Indeed he insisted on

my seeing you in person, to express his very sincere concern for your

brother's illness, and to beg that you will so far honour him--consider

him sufficiently your friend, he said--as to send to his house for

anything which Russell could either want or fancy, which, in lodgings,

there might be some difficulty in finding at hand. In one respect, Miss

Russell," continued Ormiston in somewhat a more cheerful tone, "your

brother is fortunate in not being laid up within the college walls; we

are not very good nurses there, as Hawthorne can tell you, though we do

what we can; yet I much fear this watching and anxiety have been too

much for you."

Her tears began to flow freely; there was nothing in Ormiston's words,

but their tone implied deep feeling. Yet who, however indifferent, could

look upon her helpless situation, and not be moved? I walked to the

window, feeling terribly out of place where I was, yet uncertain whether

to go or stay: for my own personal comfort, I would sooner have faced

the collected anger of a whole common-room, called to investigate my

particular misdemeanours; but to take leave at this moment seemed as

awkward as to stay; besides, had not Miss Russell appeared almost

imploringly anxious for me to spare her a _tete-a-tete_?

"My poor brother is very, very ill, Mr Ormiston," she said at last,

raising her face, from which every trace of colour had again

disappeared, and which seemed now as calm as ever. "Will you thank Dr

Meredith for me, and say I will without hesitation avail myself of his

most kind offers, if anything should occur to make his assistance

necessary."

"I can be of no use myself in any way?" said Ormiston with some

hesitation.

"I thank you, no," she replied; and then, as if conscious that her tone

was cold, she added--"You are very kind: Mr Hawthorne was good enough to

say the same. Every one is very kind to us, indeed; but"--and here she

stopped again, her emotion threatening to master her; and Ormiston and

myself simultaneously took our leave.

Preoccupied as my mind had been by anxiety on Russell's account, it did

not prevent a feeling of awkwardness when I found myself alone with Mr

Ormiston outside the door of his lodgings. It was impossible to devise

any excuse at the moment for turning off in a different direction, as I

felt very much inclined to do; for the little street in which he lived

was not much of a thoroughfare. The natural route for both of us to take

was that which led towards the High Street, for a few hundred steps the

other way would have brought us out into the country, where it is not

usual for either tutors or undergraduates to promenade in cap and gown,

as they do, to the great admiration of the rustics, in our sister

university. We walked on together, therefore, feeling--I will answer at

least for one of us--that it would be an especial relief just then to

meet the greatest bore with whom we had any pretence of a speaking

acquaintance, or pass any shop in which we could frame the most

threadbare excuse of having business, to cut short the embarrassment of

each other's company. After quitting any scene in which deep feelings

have been displayed, and in which our own have been not slightly

interested, it is painful to feel called upon to make any comment on

what has passed; we feel ashamed to do so in the strain and tone which

would betray our own emotion, and we have not the heart to do so

carelessly or indifferently. I should have felt this, even had I been

sure that Ormiston's feelings towards Mary Russell had been nothing more

than my own; whereas, in fact, I was almost sure of the contrary; in

which case it was possible that, in his eyes, my own _locus standi_ in

that quarter, surprised as I had been in an apparently very confidential

interview, might seem to require some explanation which would be

indelicate to ask for directly, and which it might not mend matters if I

were to give indirectly without being asked. So we proceeded some paces

up the little quiet street, gravely and silently, neither of us speaking

a word. At last Ormiston asked me if I had seen Russell, and how I

thought him? adding, without waiting for a reply, "Dr Wilson, I fear

from what he told me, thinks but badly of him."

"I am very sorry to hear you say so," I replied; and then ventured to

remark how very wretched it would be for his sister in the event of his

growing worse, to be left at such a time so utterly helpless and alone.

He was silent for some moments. "Some of her friends," he said at last,

"ought to come down; she must have friends, I know, who would come if

they were sent for. I wish Mrs Meredith were returned--she might advise

her."

He spoke rather in a soliloquy than as addressing me, and I did not feel

called upon to make any answer. The next moment we arrived at the turn

of the street, and, by what seemed a mutual impulse, wished each other

good morning.

I went straight down to Smith's rooms, at ----Hall, to get him to come

and dine with me; for I pitied the poor fellow's forlorn condition, and

considered myself in some degree bound to supply Russell's place towards

him. A Bible-clerk's position in the University is always more or less

one of mortification and constraint. It is true that the same academical

degree, the same honours--if he can obtain them--the same position in

after life--all the solid advantages of a University education, are open

to him, as to other men; but, so long as his undergraduateship lasts, he

stands in a very different position from other men, and he feels

it--feels it, too, through three or four of those years of life when

such feelings are most acute, and when that strength of mind which is

the only antidote--which can measure men by themselves and not by their

accidents--is not as yet matured either in himself or in the society of

which he becomes a member. If, indeed, he be a decidedly clever man, and

has the opportunity early in his career of showing himself to be such,

then there is good sense and good feeling enough--let us say, to the

honour of the University, there is sufficient of that true _esprit du

corps_, a real consciousness of the great objects for which men are thus

brought together--to insure the acknowledgment from all but the most

unworthy of its members, that a scholar is always a gentleman. But if he

be a man of only moderate abilities, and known only as a Bible-clerk,

then, the more he is of a gentleman by birth and education, the more

painful does his position generally become. There are not above two or

three in residence in most colleges, and their society is confined

almost wholly to themselves. Some old schoolfellow, indeed, or some man

who "knows him at home," holding an independent rank in college, may

occasionally venture upon the condescension of asking him to wine--even

to meet a friend or two with whom he can take such a liberty; and

even then, the gnawing consciousness that he is considered an

inferior--though not treated as such--makes it a questionable act of

kindness. Among the two or three of his own table, one is the son of

a college butler, another has been for years usher at a preparatory

school; he treats them with civility, they treat him with deference; but

they have no tastes or feelings in common. At an age, therefore, which

most of all seeks and requires companionship, he has no companions; and

the period of life which should be the most joyous, becomes to him

almost a purgatory. Of course the radical and the leveller will say at

once, "Ay, this comes of your aristocratic distinctions; they ought not

to be allowed in universities at all." Not so: it comes of human nature;

the distinction between a dependent and an independent position will

always be felt in all societies, mark it outwardly as little as you

will. Humiliation, more or less, is a penalty which poverty must always

pay. These humbler offices in the University were founded by a charity

as wise as benevolent, which has afforded to hundreds of men of talent,

but of humble means, an education equal to that of the highest noble in

the land, and, in consequence, a position and usefulness in after life

which otherwise they could never have hoped for. And if the somewhat

servile tenure by which they are held (which in late years has in most

colleges been very much relaxed) were wholly done away with, there is

reason to fear the charity of the founders would be liable to continual

abuse, by their being bestowed upon many who required no such

assistance. As it is, this occurs too often; and it is much to be

desired that the same regulations were followed in their distribution

throughout the University, which some colleges have long most properly

adopted: namely, that the appointment should be bestowed on the

successful candidate after examination, strict regard being had to

the circumstances of all the parties before they are allowed to offer

themselves. It would make their position far more definite and

respectable, because all would then be considered honourable to a

certain degree, as being the reward of merit; instead of which, too

often, they are convenient items of patronage in the hands of the

Principal and Fellows, the nomination to them depending on private

interest, which, by no means insuring the nominee's being a gentleman by

birth, while it is wholly careless of his being a scholar by education,

tends to lower the general standing of the order in the University.

This struck me forcibly in Smith's case. Poor fellow! with an excellent

heart and a great deal of sound common sense, he had neither the

breeding nor the talent to make a gentleman of. I doubt if an university

education was any real boon to him. It insured him four years of

hard work--harder, perhaps, than if he had sat at a desk all the

time--without the society of any of his own class and habits, and with

the prospect of very little remuneration ultimately. I think he might

have been very happy in his own sphere, and I do not see how he could be

happy at Oxford. And whether he or the world in general ever profited

much by the B.A. which he eventually attached to his name, is a point at

least doubtful.

I could not get him to come and dine with me in my own college. He knew

his own position, as it seemed, and was not ashamed of it; in fact, in

his case, it could not involve any consciousness of degradation; and I

am sure his only reason for refusing my invitations of that kind was,

that he thought it possible my dignity might be compromised by so open

an association with him. He would come over to my rooms in the evening

to tea, he said; and he came accordingly. When I told him in the morning

that Russell had inquired very kindly after him, he was much affected;

but it had evidently been a comfort to him to feel that he was not

forgotten, and during the hour or two which we spent together in the

evening, he seemed much more cheerful.

"Perhaps they will let me see him to-morrow, if he is better?" he said,

with an appealing look to me. I assured him I would mention his wish to

Russell, and his countenance at once brightened up, as if he thought

only his presence were needed to insure our friend's recovery.

But the next morning all our hopes were dashed again; delirium had

returned, as had been feared, and the feverish symptoms seemed to gain

strength rather than abate. Bleeding and other usual remedies had been

had recourse to already to a perilous extent, and in Russell's present

reduced state, no further treatment of the kind could be ventured upon.

"All we can do now, sir," said Dr Wilson, "is little more than to let

nature take her course. I _have known_ such cases recover." I did not

ask to see Mary Russell that day; for what could I have answered to her

fears and inquiries? But I thought of Ormiston's words; surely she ought

to have some friend--some one of her own family, or some known and tried

companion of her own sex, would surely come to her at a moment's notice,

did they but know of her trying situation. If--if her brother were to

die--she surely would not be left here among strangers, quite alone? Yet

I much feared, from what had escaped him at our last interview, that

they had both incurred the charge of wilfulness in refusing offers of

assistance at the time of their father's disgrace and flight, and

that having, contrary to the advice of their friends, and perhaps

imprudently, taken the step they had done in coming to Oxford, Mary

Russell, with something of her brother's spirit, had made up her mind

now, however heavy and unforeseen the blow that was to fall, to suffer

all in solitude and silence. For Ormiston, too, I felt with an interest

and intensity that was hourly increasing. I met him after morning

chapel, and though he appeared intentionally to avoid any conversation

with me, I knew by his countenance that he had heard the unfavourable

news of the morning; and it could be no common emotion that had left its

visible trace upon features usually so calm and impassible.

From thoughts of this nature, indulged in the not very appropriate

locality of the centre of the quadrangle, I was roused by the

good-humoured voice of Mrs Meredith--"our governess," as we used to call

her--who, with the Doctor himself, was just then entering the college,

and found me right in the line of her movements towards the door of "the

lodgings." I was not until that moment aware of her return, and

altogether was considerably startled as she addressed me with--"Oh! how

do you do, Mr Hawthorne? You young gentlemen don't take care of

yourselves, you see, when I am away--I am so sorry to hear this about

poor Mr Russell. Is he so very ill? Dr Meredith is just going to see

him."

I coloured up, I dare say, for it was a trick I was given to in those

days, and, in the confusion, replied rather to my own thoughts than to

Mrs Meredith's question.

"Mrs Meredith! I really beg your pardon," I first stammered out as a

very necessary apology, for I had nearly stumbled over her--"May I say

how very glad I am you are returned, on Miss Russell's account--I am

sure"----

"Really, Mr Hawthorne, it is very natural I suppose, but you gentlemen

seem to expend your whole sympathy upon the young lady, and forget the

brother altogether! Mr Ormiston actually took the trouble to write to me

about her"----

"My dear!" interposed the Principal.

"Nay, Dr Meredith, see how guilty Mr Hawthorne looks! and as to Mr

Ormiston"---- "Well, never mind" (the Doctor was visibly checking his

lady's volubility), "I love the poor dear girl so much myself, that I am

really grieved to the heart for her. I shall go down and see her

directly, and make her keep up her spirits. Dr Wilson is apt to make out

all the bad symptoms he can--I shall try if I can cure Mr Russell

myself, after all; a little proper nursing in those cases is worth a

whole staff of doctors--and, as to this poor girl, what can she know

about it? I dare say she sits crying her eyes out, poor thing, and doing

nothing--_I'll_ see about it. Why, I wouldn't lose Mr Russell from the

college for half the young men in it--would I, Dr Meredith?"

I bowed, and they passed on. Mrs Principal, if somewhat pompous

occasionally, was a kind-hearted woman. I believe an hour scarcely

elapsed after her return to Oxford, before she was in Russell's

lodgings, ordering everything about as coolly as if it were in her own

house, and all but insisting on seeing the patient and prescribing

herself for him, in spite of all professional injunctions to the

contrary. The delirium passed off again, and though it left Russell

sensibly weaker, so weak, that when I next was admitted to see him with

Smith, he could do little more than feebly grasp our hands, yet the

fever was evidently abated; and in the course of the next day, whether

it was to be attributed to the remedies originally used, or to his

own youth and good constitution, or to Mrs Meredith's experienced

directions in the way of nursing, and the cheerful spirit which that

good lady, in spite of a little fussiness, succeeded generally in

producing around her, there was a decided promise of amendment, which

happily each succeeding hour tended gradually to fulfil. Ormiston had

been unremitting in his inquiries; but I believe had never since sought

an interview either with the brother or sister. I took advantage of the

first conversation Russell was able to hold with me, to mention how very

sincerely I believed him to have felt the interest he expressed. A

moment afterwards I felt almost sorry I had mentioned the name--it was

the first time I had done so during Russell's illness. He almost started

up in bed, and his face glowed again with more than the flush of fever,

as he caught up my words.

"Sincere, did you say? Ormiston sincere! You don't know the man as I do.

Inquired here, did he? What right has he to intrude his"----

"Hush, my dear Russell," I interposed, really almost alarmed at his

violence. "Pray, don't excite yourself--I think you do him great

injustice; but we will drop the subject, if you please."

"I tell you, Hawthorne, if you knew all, you would despise him as much

as I do."

It is foolish to argue with an invalid--but really even my friendship

for Russell would not allow me to bear in silence an attack so

unjustifiable, as it seemed to me, on the character of a man who had

every claim to my gratitude and respect. I replied therefore somewhat

incautiously, that perhaps I did know a little more than Russell

suspected.

He stared at me with a look of bewilderment. "What do you know?" he

asked quickly.

It was too late to hesitate or retract. I had started an unfortunate

subject; but I knew Russell too well to endeavour now to mislead him. "I

have no right perhaps to say I know anything; but I have gathered from

Ormiston's manner, that he has very strong reasons for the anxiety he

has shown on your account. I will not say more."

"And how do you know this? Has Mr Ormiston dared"----

"No, no, Russell," said I, earnestly; "see how unjust you are, in this

instance." I wished to say something to calm him, and it would have been

worse than useless to say anything but the truth. I saw he guessed to

what I alluded; and I gave him briefly my reasons for what I thought,

not concealing the interview with his sister, at which I had

unintentionally been present.

It was a very painful scene. When he first understood that Ormiston had

sought the meeting, his temper, usually calm, but perhaps now tried by

such long hours of pain and heaviness, broke out with bitter expressions

against both. I told him, shortly and warmly, that such remarks towards

his sister were unmanly and unkind; and then he cried, like a chidden

and penitent child, till his remorse was as painful to look upon as his

passion. "Mary! my own Mary! even you, Hawthorne, know and feel her

value better than I do! I for whom she has borne so much."

"I am much mistaken," said I, "if Ormiston has not learned to appreciate

her even yet more truly. And why not?"

"Leave me now," he said; "I am not strong enough to talk; but if you

wish to know what cause I have to speak as I have done of your friend

Ormiston, you shall hear again."

So exhausted did he seem by the excess of feeling which I had so

unfortunately called forth, that I would not see him again for some

days, contenting myself with learning that no relapse had taken place,

and that he was still progressing rapidly towards recovery.

I had an invitation to visit my aunt again during the Easter vacation,

which had already commenced, and had only been prevented from leaving

Oxford by Russell's alarming state. As soon, therefore, as all danger

was pronounced over, I prepared to go up to town at once, and my next

visit to Russell was in fact to wish him good-by for two or three weeks.

He was already sitting up, and fast regaining strength. He complained

of having seen so little of me lately, and asked me if I had seen

his sister. "I had not noticed it until the last few days," he

said--"illness makes one selfish, I suppose; but I think Mary looks

thin and ill--very different from what she did a month back."

But watching and anxiety, as I told him, were not unlikely to produce

that effect; and I advised him strongly to take her somewhere for a few

weeks for change of air and scene. "It will do you both good," I said;

"and you can draw another L50 from your unknown friend for that purpose;

it cannot be better applied, and I should not hesitate for a moment."

"I would not," he replied, "if I wanted money; but I do not. Do you

know that Dr Wilson would take no fee whatever from Mary during the

whole of his attendance; and when I asked him to name some sufficient

remuneration, assuring him I could afford it, he said he would never

forgive me if I ever mentioned the subject again. So what remains of the

fifty you drew for me, will amply suffice for a little trip somewhere

for us. And I quite agree with you in thinking it desirable, on every

account, that Mary should move from Oxford--perhaps altogether--for one

reason, to be out of the way of a friend of yours."

"Ormiston?"

"Yes, Ormiston; he called here again since I saw you, and wished to see

me; but I declined the honour. Possibly," he added bitterly, "as we

have succeeded in keeping out of jail here, he thinks Mary has grown

rich again." And then he went on to tell me how, in the days of his

father's reputed wealth, Ormiston had been a constant visitor at their

house in town, and how his attentions to his sister had even attracted

his father's attention, and led to his name being mentioned as likely to

make an excellent match with the rich banker's daughter. "My father did

not like it," he said, "for he had higher views for her, as was perhaps

excusable--though I doubt if he would have refused Mary anything. I did

not like it for another reason: because I knew all the time how matters

really stood, and that any man who looked for wealth with my sister

would in the end be miserably disappointed. What Mary's own feelings

were, and what actually passed between her and Ormiston, I never asked;

but she knew my views on the subject, and would, I am certain, never

have accepted any man under the circumstances in which she was placed,

and which she could not explain. I did hope and believe, however, then,

that there was sufficient high principle about Ormiston to save Mary

from any risk of throwing away her heart upon a man who would desert her

upon a change of fortune. I think he loved her at the time--as well

as such men as he can love any one; but from the moment the crash

came--Ormiston, you know, was in town at the time--there was an end of

everything. It was an opportunity for a man to show feeling if he had

any; and though I do not affect much romance, I almost think that in

such a case even an ordinary heart might have been warmed into devotion;

but Ormiston--cold, cautious, calculating as he is--I could almost have

laughed at the sudden change that came over him when he heard the news.

He pretended, indeed, great interest for us, and certainly did seem cut

up about it; but he had not committed himself, I conclude, and took care

to retreat in time. Thank Heaven! even if Mary did ever care for him,

she is not the girl to break her heart for a man who proves so unworthy

of her regard. But why he should insist on inflicting his visits upon us

now, is what I cannot make out; and what I will not endure."

I listened with grief and surprise. I knew well that not even the strong

prejudice which I believed Russell to have always felt against Ormiston,

would tempt him to be guilty of misrepresentation; and, again, I gave

him credit for too much penetration to have been easily deceived. Yet I

could not bring myself all at once to think so ill of Ormiston. He had

always been considered in pecuniary matters liberal almost to a fault;

that he really loved Mary Russell, I felt more than ever persuaded; and,

at my age, it was hard to believe that a few thousand pounds could

affect any man's decision in such a point, even for a moment. Why, the

very fact of her being poor and friendless was enough to make one fall

in love with such a girl at once! So when Russell, after watching the

effect of his disclosure, misconstruing my silence, proceeded to ask

somewhat triumphantly--"_Now_, what say you of Mr Ormiston?"--I answered

at once, that I was strongly convinced there was a mistake.

"Ay," rejoined he with a sneering laugh; "on Ormiston's part, you mean;

decidedly there was."

"I mean," said I, "there has been some misunderstanding, which time may

yet explain: I do not, and will not believe him capable of what you

impute to him. Did you ever ask your sister for a full and unreserved

explanation of what has passed between them?"

"Never; but I know that she has shunned all intercourse with him as

carefully as I have, and that his recently renewed civilities have given

her nothing but pain." My own observation certainly tended to confirm

this; so, changing the subject--for it was one on which I had scarce any

right to give an opinion, still less offer advice, I asked whether I

could do anything for him in town; and, after exchanging a cordial

good-by with Miss Russell, in whose appearance I was sorry to see strong

confirmation of her brother's fears for her health, I took my leave, and

the next morning saw me on the top of "The Age," on my way to town.

There I received a letter from my father, in which he desired me to

take the opportunity of calling upon his attorney, Mr Rushton, in order

to have some leases and other papers read and explained to me, chiefly

matters of form, but which would require my signature upon my coming of

age. It concluded with the following PS.:--

"I was sorry to hear of your friend's illness, and trust he will

now do very well. Bring him down with you at Christmas, if you can.

I hear, by the way, there is a _Miss_ Russell in the case--a very

fascinating young lady, whom you never mention at all--a fact which

your mother, who is up to all those things, says is very

suspicious. All I can say is, if she is as good a girl as her

mother was before her--I knew her well once--you may bring her down

with you too, if you like."

How very unlucky it is that the home authorities seldom approve of any

little affairs of the kind except those of which one is perfectly

innocent! Now, if I _had_ been in love with Mary Russell, the governor

would, in the nature of things, have felt it his duty to be

disagreeable.

I put off the little business my father alluded to day after day, to

make way for more pleasant engagements, until my stay in town was

drawing to a close. Letters from Russell informed me of his having left

Oxford for Southampton, where he was reading hard, and getting quite

stout; but he spoke of his sister's health in a tone that alarmed me,

though he evidently was trying to persuade himself that a few weeks'

sea-air would quite restore it. At last I devoted a morning to call on

Mr Rushton, whom I found at home, though professing, as all lawyers do,

to be full of business. He made my acquaintance as politely as if I had

been the heir-expectant of an earldom, instead of the very moderate

amount of acres which had escaped sale and subdivision in the Hawthorne

family. In fact, he seemed a very good sort of fellow, and we ran over

the parchments together very amicably--I almost suspected he was

cheating me, he seemed so very friendly, but therein I did him wrong.

"And now, my dear sir," continued he, as we shut up the last of them,

"will you dine with me to-day? Let me see; I fear I can't say before

seven, for I have a great deal of work to get through. Some bankruptcy

business, about which I have taken some trouble," he continued, rubbing

his hands, "and which we shall manage pretty well in the end, I fancy.

By the way, it concerns some friends of yours, too: is not Mr Ormiston

of your college? Ay, I thought he was; he is two thousand pounds richer

than he fancied himself yesterday."

"Really?" said I, somewhat interested; "how, may I ask?"

"Why, you see, when Russell's bank broke--bad business that--we all

thought the first dividend--tenpence-halfpenny in the pound, I believe

it was--would be the final one: however, there are some foreign

securities which, when they first came into the hands of the assignees,

were considered of no value at all, but have gone up wonderfully in the

market just of late; so that we have delayed finally closing accounts

till we could sell them to such advantage as will leave some tolerable

pickings for the creditors after all."

"Had Ormiston money in Mr Russell's bank, then, at the time?"

"Oh, yes: something like eight thousand pounds: not all his own, though:

five thousand he had in trust for some nieces of his, which he had

unluckily just sold out of the funds, and placed with Russell, while he

was engaged in making arrangements for a more profitable investment; the

rest was his own."

"He lost it all, then?"

"All but somewhere about three hundred pounds, as it appeared at the

time. What an excellent fellow he is! You know him well, I dare say.

They tell me that he pays the interest regularly to his nieces for their

money out of his own income still."

I made no answer to Mr Rushton at the moment, for a communication so

wholly unexpected had awakened a new set of ideas, which I was busily

following out in my mind. I seemed to hold in my hands the clue to a

good deal of misunderstanding and unhappiness. My determination was soon

taken to go to Southampton, see Russell at once, and tell him what I

had just heard, and of which I had no doubt he had hitherto been as

ignorant as myself. I was rather induced to take this course, as I felt

persuaded that Miss Russell's health was suffering rather from mental

than bodily causes; and, in such a case, a great deal of mischief is

done in a short time. I would leave town at once.

My purse was in the usual state of an undergraduate's at the close of a

visit to London; so, following up the train of my own reflections, I

turned suddenly upon Mr Rushton, who was again absorbed in his papers,

and had possibly forgotten my presence altogether, and attacked him

with--

"My dear sir, can you lend me ten pounds?"

"Certainly," said Mr Rushton, taking off his spectacles, and feeling in

his pockets, at the same time looking at me with some little

curiosity--"certainly--with great pleasure."

"I beg your pardon for taking such a liberty," said I, apologetically;

"but I find I must leave town to-night."

"To-night!" said the lawyer, looking still more inquiringly at me; "I

thought you were to dine with me?"

"I cannot exactly explain to you at this moment, sir, my reasons; but I

have reasons, and I think sufficient ones, though they have suddenly

occurred to me."

I pocketed the money, leaving Mr Rushton to speculate on the

eccentricities of Oxonians as he pleased, and a couple of hours found me

seated on the Southampton mail.

The Russells were surprised at my sudden descent upon them, but welcomed

me cordially; and even Mary's pale face did not prevent my being in

excellent spirits. As soon as I could speak to Russell by himself, I

told him what I had heard from Mr Rushton.

He never interrupted me, but his emotion was evident. When he did speak,

it was in an altered and humbled voice.

"I never inquired," he said, "who my father's creditors were--perhaps I

ought to have done so; but I thought the knowledge could only pain me. I

see it all now; how unjust, how ungrateful I have been! Poor Mary!"

We sat down, and talked over those points in Ormiston's conduct, upon

which Russell had put so unfavourable a construction. It was quite

evident, that a man who could act with so much liberality and

self-denial towards others, could have had no interested motives in his

conduct with regard to Mary Russell; and her brother was now as eager to

express his confidence in Ormiston's honour and integrity, as he was

before hasty in misjudging him.

Where all parties are eager for explanation, matters are soon

explained. Russell had an interview with his sister, which brought her

to the breakfast table the next morning with blushing cheeks and

brightened eyes. _Her_ misgivings, if she had any, were easily set at

rest. He then wrote to Ormiston a letter full of generous apologies and

expressions of his high admiration of his conduct, which was answered by

that gentleman in person by return of post. How Mary Russell and he met,

or what they said, must ever be a secret, for no one was present but

themselves. But all embarrassment was soon over, and we were a very

happy party for the short time we remained at Southampton together; for,

feeling that my share in the matter was at an end--a share which I

contemplated with some little self-complacency--I speedily took my

departure.

If I have not made Ormiston's conduct appear in as clear colours to the

reader as it did to ourselves, I can only add, that the late

misunderstanding seemed a painful subject to all parties, and that the

mutual explanations were rather understood than expressed. The anonymous

payment to Russell's credit at the bank was no longer a mystery: it was

the poor remains of the College Tutor's little fortune, chiefly the

savings of his years of office--the bulk of which had been lost through

the fault of the father--generously devoted to meet the necessities of

the son. That he would have offered Mary Russell his heart and hand at

once when she was poor, as he hesitated to do when she was rich, none

of us for a moment doubted, had not his own embarrassments, caused by

the failure of the bank, and the consequent claims of his orphan nieces,

to replace whose little income he had contracted all his own expenses,

made him hesitate to involve the woman he loved in an imprudent

marriage.

They were married, however, very soon--and still imprudently the world

said, and my good aunt among the rest; for, instead of waiting an

indefinite time for a good college living to fall in, Ormiston took the

first that offered, a small vicarage of L300 a-year, intending to add to

his income by taking pupils. However, fortune sometimes loves to have a

laugh at the prudent ones, and put to the rout all their wise

prognostications; for, during Ormiston's "year of grace"--while he still

virtually held his fellowship, though he had accepted the living--our

worthy old Principal died somewhat suddenly, and regret at his loss only

gave way to the universal joy of every individual in the college

(except, I suppose, any disappointed aspirants), when Mr Ormiston was

elected almost unanimously to the vacant dignity.

* * * * *

Mr Russell the elder has never returned to England. On the mind of such

a man, after the first blow, and the loss of his position in the world,

the disgrace attached to his name had comparatively little effect. He

lives in some small town in France, having contrived, with his known

_clever management_, to keep himself in comfortable circumstances; and

his best friends can only strive to forget his existence, rather than

wish for his return. His son and daughter pay him occasional visits, for

their affection survives his disgrace and forgets his errors. Charles

Russell took a first class, after delaying his examination a couple of

terms, owing to his illness, and is now a barrister, with a reputation

for talent, but as yet very little business. However, as I hear the city

authorities have had the impudence to seize some of the college plate in

discharge of a disputed claim for rates, and that Russell is retained as

one of the counsel in an action of replevin, I trust he will begin a

prosperous career, by contributing to win the cause for the "gown."

I spent a month with Dr and Mrs Ormiston at their vicarage in the

country, before the former entered upon his official residence as

Principal; and can assure the reader that, in spite of ten--it may be

more--years of difference in age, they are the happiest couple I ever

saw. I may almost say, the only happy couple I ever saw, most of my

married acquaintance appearing at the best only _contented_ couples, not

drawing their happiness so exclusively from each other as suits my

notion of what such a tie ought to be. Of course, I do not take my own

matrimonial experience into account; the same principle of justice which

forbids a man to give evidence in his own favour, humanely excusing him

from making any admission which may criminate himself. Mrs Ormiston is

as beautiful, as amiable, as ever, and has lost all the reserve and

sadness which, in her maiden days, overshadowed her charms; and so

sincere was and is my admiration of her person and character, and so

warmly was I in the habit of expressing it, that I really believe my

dilating upon her attractions used to make Mrs. Francis Hawthorne

somewhat jealous, until she had the happiness to make her acquaintance,

and settled the point by falling in love with the lady herself.

THE MAGIC LAY OF THE ONE-HORSE CHAY.

BY THE LATE JOHN HUGHES, A.M.

[_MAGA._ OCTOBER 1824.]

AIR--_Eveleen's Bower._

I.

Mr Bubb was a Whig orator, also a Soap Laborator,

For everything's new christen'd in the present day;

He was follow'd and adored by the Common Council board,

And lived quite genteel with a one-horse chay.

II.

Mrs Bubb was gay and free, fair, fat, and forty-three,

And blooming as a peony in buxom May;

The toast she long had been of Farringdon-Within,

And fill'd the better-half of the one-horse chay.

III.

Mrs Bubb said to her Lord, "You can well, Bubb, afford

Whate'er a Common Council man in prudence may;

We've no brats to plague our lives, and the soap concern it thrives,

So let's have a trip to Brighton in the one-horse chay.

IV.

"We'll view the pier and shipping, and enjoy many dipping,

And walk for a stomach in our best array;

I longs more nor I can utter, for shrimps and bread and butter,

And an airing on the Steyne in the one-horse chay.

V.

"We've a right to spare for nought that for money can be bought,

So to get matters ready, Bubb, do you trudge away;

To my dear Lord Mayor I'll walk, just to get a bit of talk

And an imitation shawl for the one-horse chay."

VI.

Mr Bubb said to his wife, "Now I think upon't, my life

'Tis three weeks at least to next boiling-day;

The dog-days are set in, and London's growing thin,

So I'll order out old Nobbs and the one-horse chay."

VII.

Now Nobbs, it must be told, was rather fat and old,

His colour it was white, and it had been grey;

He was round as a pot, and when soundly whipt would trot

Full five miles an hour in the one-horse chay.

VIII.

When at Brighton they were housed, and had stuffed and caroused,

O'er a bowl of rack punch, Mr Bubb did say,

"I've ascertain'd, my dear, the mode of dipping here

From the ostler, who is cleaning up my one-horse chay.

IX.

"You're shut up in a box, ill convenient as the stocks,

And eighteenpence a-time are obliged for to pay;

Court corruption here, say I, makes everything so high,

And I wish I had come without my one-horse chay."

X.

"As I hope," says she, "to thrive, 'tis flaying folks alive,

The King and them extortioners are leagued, I say;

'Tis encouraging of such for to go to pay so much,

So we'll set them at defiance with our one-horse chay.

XI.

"Old Nobbs, I am sartin, may be trusted gig or cart in,

He takes every matter in an easy way;

He'll stand like a post, while we dabble on the coast,

And return back to dress in our one-horse chay."

XII.

So out they drove, all drest so gaily in their best,

And finding, in their rambles, a snug little bay,

They uncased at their leisure, paddled out to take their pleasure,

And left everything behind in the one-horse chay.

XIII.

But while, so snugly sure that all things were secure,

They flounced about like porpoises or whales at play,

Some young unlucky imps, who prowl'd about for shrimps,

Stole up to reconnoitre the one-horse chay.

XIV.

Old Nobbs, in quiet mood, was sleeping as he stood

(He might possibly be dreaming of his corn or hay);

Not a foot did he wag, so they whipt out every rag,

And gutted the contents of the one-horse chay.

XV.

When our pair were soused enough, and returned in their buff,

Oh, there was the vengeance and old Nick to pay!

Madam shriek'd in consternation, Mr Bubb he swore----!

To find the empty state of the one-horse chay.

XVI.

"If I live," said she, "I swear, I'll consult my dear Lord Mayor,

And a fine on this vagabond town he shall lay;

But the gallows thieves, so tricky, hasn't left me e'en a dicky,

And I shall catch my death in the one-horse chay."

XVII.

"Come, bundle in with me, we must squeeze for once," says he,

"And manage this here business the best we may;

We've no other step to choose, nor a moment must we lose,

Or the tide will float us off in our one-horse chay."

XVIII.

So noses, sides, and knees, all together did they squeeze,

And, pack'd in little compass, they trotted it away,

As dismal as two dummies, head and hands stuck out like mummies

From beneath the little apron of the one-horse chay.

XIX.

The Steyne was in a throng, as they jogg'd it along,

Madam hadn't been so put to it for many a day;

Her pleasure it was damped, and her person somewhat cramped,

Doubled up beneath the apron of the one-horse chay.

XX.

"Oh would that I were laid," Mr Bubb in sorrow said,

"In a broad-wheeled waggon, well covered with hay!

I'm sick of sporting smart, and would take a tilted cart

In exchange for this bauble of a one-horse chay.

XXI.

"I'd give half my riches for my worst pair of breeches,

Or the apron that I wore last boiling-day;

They would wrap my arms and shoulders from these impudent beholders,

And allow me to whip on in my one-horse chay."

XXII.

Mr Bubb ge-hupped in vain, and strove to jerk the rein,

Nobbs felt he had his option to work or play,

So he wouldn't mend his pace, though they'd fain have run a race,

To escape the merry gazers at the one-horse chay.

XXIII.

Now, good people, laugh your fill, and fancy if you will

(For I'm fairly out of breath, and have said my say),

The trouble and the rout, to wrap and get them out,

When they drove to their lodgings in their one-horse chay.

XXIV.

The day was swelt'ring warm, so they took no cold or harm,

And o'er a smoking lunch soon forgot their dismay;

But, fearing Brighton mobs, started off at night with Nobbs,

To a snugger watering-place, in the one-horse chay.

PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise,

every effort has been made to remain true to the authors' words and

intent.