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take her up. At Lumby Hall they were as
near to her as they were at the Grange, unless
she had gone more rapidly than he counted.
Hiram's hat had gone already in the leap through
the gap, and now finding that the coat he wore
pulled him down, he slipped from it; but in
all his anxiety and haste, he marked the place
in which he dropped it, and resolved to return
for it on the morrow. The incongruity of such
a care at such a moment struck him with
ridiculous force, and he had to fight down a half-
hysterical desire to laugh. A two miles' run is
a heavy business for a man who is out of training,
and Hiram, before he reached the gates, had run
himself almost to a stand-still, and his most
urgent efforts took him scarcely faster than his
average walk. But he toiled on, and coming
near the house, made a final spurt, and dashed in
at the doorway headlong. The venerable butler
was the first to meet him, and seeing him running
along the corridor in a half-stagger, stopped
him.
"Mr Search!' cried the butler in amazement,
'what is it? Thieves?'

'I dare not go,' sobbed the girl. 'Your master will be here in half an hour,' he answered; and he will know that you were in the plot. You must go-you dare not stay.' The girl wrung her hands, and stood irresolute. 'Go!' he said sternly; and she obeyed him. A minute later, Constance glided into the room with the maid behind her. Her hand, as she laid it on Val's arm, trembled as a steel spring vibrates when shaken; but without a word on either side they stepped on to the lawn, and Mary followed, travelling the Primrose Way like her betters, and like them, finding it unpleasant, and less smooth than downright honour's roughest footpath. They glided noiselessly round the house, and noiselessly along the gravelled carriage-drive. There, at the gate the seaman came from the shadows and gave an arm to the weeping maid. Once in the lane, Constance walked with a firm step; but the highstrung tremor of her hand warned Val against addressing her. Ten minutes' walking brought them to the shore, and they could see the boat that awaited them. Constance knew nothing of the alarm; but Val in his mind's eye saw the long figure flying over the fields in the moonlight, and in his strained and exalted fancy could almost hear the beat of his hurried footsteps. He watched Hiram in fancy breasting the rise which led to The butler, with one glance of astonishment, Lumby Hall, and he saw the old friend he had ran to the room in which the party sat assembled. so wronged, sitting happy and exulting in the Mr Jolly had just arrived at that happy conthought of to-morrow's happiness, and know-clusion already recorded, when the old servant ing nothing of the blow the panting messenger came in haste to deal. Val had won his stake, and nothing could come between him and Constance now; but he was so far from happy, that he could well-nigh have surrendered his triumph. Yet for her sake, if not his own, there could be no surrender, and he must be tender to her and true to her. For many a day to come, he would have to fill the place of all the world to her, and he vowed that he would do it. If the heartservice and perpetual worship of the man she loved could make her happy, her life should go without a cloud. But even as these vows rose in his heart, he seemed to see and hear the hurried flight that carried the awful news.

'Give me your hand, my love,' he said gently, and helped Constance into the boat, and leading her to a seat, wrapped a cloak about her tenderly. The maid followed with her attendant seaman. 'Give way, men!' he said gravely and quietly. The bow of the boat lay upon the beach; but two of the men pushed her off, and leaped in as she floated. Val took the tiller ropes, and steered to where in the distance the yacht's white sails gleamed. His thoughts were still with the flying messenger, and followed him until the fatal message was delivered. 'He knows by this time,' he thought. It was not easy for Val Strange to be a sinner against friendship and honour. An almost unbearable pang ran through his heart as he pictured Gerard listening to the

news.

Hiram's listening ear told him that pursuit had ceased; but he only laid himself out the harder, and ran until his chest seemed filled with fire, and every breath he drew was a sob. As he ran, he planned. So light a wind was blowing, that the yacht could make but little headway, and a well-manned boat might even

'No,' gasped Hiram-'Mr Gerard-fetch Mr Gerard. Call him out here. Quick, quick, quick!'

entered and with a flustered air whispered to his young master. 'There's something wrong, sir. Will you come out, please?'

Gerard arose and followed him, and came on Hiram, leaning against the wall, sobbing for breath. The butler paused there, and the young man stopped also, with a look of wonder at Hiram's wild face and figure.

'Call up all your pluck,' said Hiram; 'you'll want it. Valentine Strange has bolted with

'What?' roared Gerard, and taking Hiram by the shoulders, he shook him like a reed.

'Miss Jolly,' gasped Hiram, and fell back against the wall, panting and glaring.

The young man's wild cry brought an inquiring face to the open door of the room he had just quitted.

'You lying villain!' said Gerard hoarsely, glaring back at Hiram.

'Gone aboard the yacht,' said Hiram, struggling so to speak that it was terrible to look at him. 'Don't waste a minute. Go to the boats. You may catch them yet.'

The corridor was filled. 'What is it?' asked one, laying a hand on Gerard's shoulder. 'Nothing wrong?'

Gerard shook him off and burst into awful laughter. This dog,' he said, turning an ashen face on Hiram, has a reputation as a humorist. He has been drinking, and has brought a jest home with him.'

'Don't waste a minute,' gasped Hiram again, struggling upright and seizing Gerard by the arm.

'If I thought your tale was true, you drunken rascal,' answered Gerard, do you think I would take a step to bring her back again?'

'To bring her back again?' repeated Reginald, pushing his way through the crowd.—' Lumby, what is this?'

Gerard pointed him to Hiram, and as he did the rival seat of learning, and that the ladyso, there was a look upon his face which made visitors generally were up to the average in the messenger's heart ache. for appreciative sight-seeing. personal attractions, dancing powers, and capacity

Valentine Strange has bolted with Miss Jolly. They 're aboard the yacht.' He tried to whisper, but his broken breath made each word a sob, and every man standing in the corridor heard the news.

"There's a pretty story, isn't it?' said Gerard, turning on Reginald. His face, beyond all words, was terrible to see.-'Is it true?' he said, laying his heavy hands on the little man's shoulders, and rocking him slightly to and fro-' is it true?' The two men looked at each other. Such a look! There was not a sound heard but that of Hiram's laboured breathing. He believes it,' said Gerard. "The man is her brother, and he believes it.' He threw his hands aloft and burst into laughter so wild and loud, that the frightened women-folk came streaming downstairs, and the servants came up and peered into the corridor. Do you believe it?' he cried, turning upon Mr Jolly. 'No, sir,' cried he. It's an infamous fabrication, an abominable fabrication.' He was white to the very lips; but it was evident that he did not believe it. Reginald,' he cried blusteringly, 'deny this infamous scandal.' As he turned upon his son with this appeal, Gerard turned upon him too.

'Denying it will not help us, sir,' said Reginald. 'Let us get our carriage and go home.'

"What?' cried the father. 'You believe it?'

'We may be of use at home,' said Reginald doggedly. Even Mr Jolly read despair in his face and voice.

'Gentlemen,' said Gerard, in a loud voice, 'let us go back to our wine.'

His mother struggled through the crowd, and the men made room for her. 'Gerard!' she

said, touching him. He fell suddenly on his knees before her, and catching at her hands, he burst into such weeping as no man there had ever heard before.

THE ENGLISH UNIVERSITIES EN FÊTE. THE year 1882 will be remembered in Cambridge as marking the commencement of a new order of things. A very salutary change in the customary procession of events in the May Term has brought it about that this year, for the first time, the two great English universities were simultaneously en fête. 'Commem' at Oxford and the May week' at Cambridge are as much recognised institutions as 'Greats' and Tripos, as the Vice-chancellor and the Senior Proctor; and he who should suggest the abolition or curtailment of either of the university carnivals, would be regarded as a revolutionary innovator, no less dangerous than if he had proposed to pull down 'Tom Quad,' or to let out as building-plots the university cricket-ground. Whether the coincidence of the two events this year made any perceptible difference in the number of visitors to either town, is a question which would agitate the minds of the undergraduate element but little, provided their own particular contingent of friends did not give the preference to invitations from

Cambridge, it is true, had the advantage over her rival in being able to offer the attraction of her annual May boat-races, in addition to the more ordinary and less exciting amusements common to both; and though the pleasure is largely dependent on genial sky and favourable breezes, there is something very alluring to strangers in the series of struggles to be witnessed in the Gut, the Plough, and the Long Reach, from the vantage-ground of Grassy Corner or Ditton Meadows. Long lines of eager young gownsmen, each in the bright uniform of his College Club, rush panting up the tow-path, cries of encouragement to their champions on uttering a babel of discordant but exhilarating the water. One by one the graceful craft appear in sight, the oarsmen swinging like a piece of perfect mechanism, the blades flashing in the evening sun, the coxswain anxiously calculating how closely he dare shave the awkward corner looming in the distance, and how soon he spurt, which shall bring the taper bow within shall venture to call upon Stroke for that final bumping distance of the boat which they pursue. Stroke by stroke the interval is lessened; the cries on the bank grow louder and more excited, as the partisans of each urge them on to greater efforts. The pursuers pull themselves together in obedience to their coach's warning voice, as their boat shows a tendency to roll when it meets the wash thrown from the oars of the leading crew. Another twenty yards, and the word is given. The bow of the pursuing craft overlaps the stern of the pursued; a moment more, and with the fresh impetus of a final spurt, 'cox' ventures to edge over to the side of the vanquished; and amid a turmoil of shouts and splashing, up goes the hand of the steersman of the leading boat. The bump is acknowledged, and each crew ceases from its exertions; the vanquished to mourn over their futile efforts, the victors to receive the congratulations of their friends on having carried the college colours one place higher on the river. But 'the cry is still they come.' One after another follow the rest of the boats, some repeating the scene already enacted, others more happy in being able to row easily over the course, unpressed by their antagonists. And so the day's racing draws to a close; and the crowd of spectators return, some by road, others by water, to prepare for the evening entertainments, wherein the rejoicings of the successful are to be celebrated, and the chagrin of the conquered forgotten.

So the week passes in a constant round of festivity. Garden-parties in the college grounds; picnics up the Granta and the Isis; concerts and balls at night; and not least, the glorious music and impressive services of Sunday, in time

honoured chapels, whose walls exhibit great to greater advantage than when the cicerone names of those who in their turn have studied and worshipped in those sacred precincts-such are the attractions which the universities hold out to their summer visitors, and which are little likely to be forgotten by those who have the good fortune to take part in them.

is a light-hearted young gownsman, full of the dignity and importance of quasi-possession of the place, and anxious to impress his party with a sense of the grandeur and beauty of their surroundings. The 'sweet girl graduate,' flourishing as that race appears to be, has not yet so fully taken possession of our universities as to render feminine society and girlish voices every-day adjuncts of college life; and perhaps their very rarity in those monastic precincts goes far to increase the charm which their presence undoubtedly adds to the otherwise sombre surroundings.

That the change which has this year brought about the coincidence of these gala-days at Oxford and Cambridge, is a wise one, it is impossible to question. In previous years, it has been the general custom at Cambridge, to fix the boatraces, the centre upon which all the other gaieties hinge, for as nearly as might be the last week in May. By this means, the longest But there is one class of visitors for whom a possible time for practice and training was peep at the university at the height of its carnival secured between the Easter vacation and the is by no means an unmixed pleasure. The man date at which the majority of undergraduates, who only a few short years ago was himself one, having 'kept their term,' were anxious to and perhaps a leading one, of the throng of escape. But one unpleasant formality remained pleasure-seekers, and who is led by the hope to be got over between the gay 'May week' of renewing the associations of those old days and the commencement of the Long Vacation to revisit his former college, after spending a -namely, the college examinations, by the longer or shorter interval in the actual battle result of which prizes and scholarships are of life, cannot fail to find an element of sadness awarded, and the progress made during the past mingled with the pleasure which attends his year is tested. Hence, during that short spell return to the familiar scenes. On the one hand, of dissipation, the luckless undergraduate whose he meets and re-greets a few of those who in prospects depended on his securing a scholarship, his undergraduate days were his every-day comor whose heart was set on proving that his time panions, his rivals it may be in the contest for and money had not been thrown away, had college honours, his comrades in joint struggles this Damoclesan sword hanging over his head, on the river and the athletic ground, now sobered warning him to desist from enjoyment, innocent down into university dignitaries and college in itself, but probably unsettling in its effects, 'dons,' but still capable of unbending at the or else to give up the hope he cherished. To recollections of boyish freaks and harmless escaexpect that the pleasant temptation thus actually pades, the like of which it is now their duty spreading its lures in front of him would fail to frown upon in others. But on the other to overcome his good resolutions, would have hand, he will miss and look in vain for many been to ask too much from youthful human a former intimate, and many a familiar face. nature; and there is little room for doubting Though unconscious of increasing age so long that many a prize has just been missed, and as he is among his fellow-toilers in the busy many a reward of honest hard work has eluded world, he will suddenly find himself aged and the seeker's grasp, owing to some accidental passé here, and will realise that between him meeting with a too fascinating partner at a now, and the careless undergraduate of former college ball or river-side picnic, whose bright years, there is a great gulf fixed, which nothing eyes have temporarily at least proved too much can bridge over; and he will feel more clearly for their admirer's good resolutions, and have than ever the increasing cares and anxieties of eliminated Greek roots and Roman antiquities increasing years. from his mind just at a critical moment in his

career.

But now, as we have already noted, times are changed. It has seemed good to the authorities to relegate many of the final university examinations to the summer instead of the winter terms. The claims of the dread Tripos have been recognised, and in deference to the schools, the boatraces and their attendant festivities have been postponed to such a date, that one and all can indulge, so far as their pockets and their inclinations permit, with a clear conscience, and a happy recollection that the ordeals are behind instead of before them; and that that last valse or extra glass of champagne will not imperil their prospects and imbitter their reflections for the ensuing twelve months.

To such as these, and to the multitude of admiring visitors who honour their brothers, cousins, or male friends more remote, with their presence during the gay week, there are few pleasanter oases to look back upon in the desert of workaday life. Venerable college buildings and ancient academical pleasure-grounds are never to be seen

But perhaps the changes wrought by time. will never be borne in upon him so keenly as when, after a quiet twilight chat over the doings of old times with one of those who shared in those early days his day-dreams and his confidences, he turns to leave his friend's rooms, and by force of long familiar habit, enters the doorway, and climbs the dark staircase at the head of which are the rooms which he once called his own. Reaching the 'oak,' he suddenly misses the latchkey from his pocket, and in an instant his mistake dawns upon him. A strange name is painted on the lintel; a stranger is sleeping unconsciously in the little inner closet which served him in his turn as a bedroom; and he realises, with a sensation of pain, that the very spot which was once his home, the scene of many an hour's toil, of many a good resolution destined to bear so little fruit-it may be of many a bitter disappointment, keenly felt, bravely struggled against, and manfully overcome-is now closed against him by right, and is in turn the home of one whose very name is strange to him, to whom also his own name and his own past life

are utterly unknown, save in so far as the college traditions may record his doings-now long past and insignificant in worth-in the cricket-field, the river, or the schools.

MY NEW FRIEND.

IN FOUR CHAPTERS.-CHAPTER I.

WHEN the sale was over, and the brokers had all goneBut stay! This seems rather too abrupt a style of commencing my story, as the reader may perhaps wish to know how it was we had the brokers in at all. Well, mine was an experience which is only too common, and was distinguished by no special features of romance, or even of pathos, although it was painful enough to me as well as to Susan, my wife.

My name is Matley-Luke Matley; a clerk in the city of London, plodding along pretty contentedly at a hundred and forty pounds a year; and I was engaged to be married to Miss Everett the Susan just referred to-and our ambition being of a limited kind, our marriage was to take place when my salary was raised to one hundred and fifty pounds, which, at the time when I have decided upon commencing my narrative, I hoped would be in the next year. But unluckily I may say so now, although I did not think so then-a distant relative, from whom I had entertained no expectations, died, and left me about a thousand pounds. Susan and myself, as I need hardly say, got married without waiting for the expected advance.

This would not have mattered so greatly, in fact it would have been the best thing I could have done, had we acted as we had originally intended, which was to have invested nearly the whole of this money in the purchase of a couple of little houses, and plodding on with my clerkship as before. But, as ill-luck would have it, I was in the wholesale wine-trade, and one of our travellers a very clever fellow I always considered him, and so without doubt he washad recently left, to set up in business for himself; and he showed me how it was possible to do much more good with seven or eight hundred pounds, than just to get a miserable five or six per cent. on house-property. I do not wish to dwell on this part of my story, so will only say that I invested my little fortune in the business; and at the end of the first half-year I received a dividend at the rate of twelve per cent. per The second half-year was more successful still, a rather larger dividend being shown; and then, as assistance was required for the fuller development of the business, I gave up my clerkship, to take a more active position in the

annum.

concern.

I was often surprised at first almost shocked at the style of people with whom our new business seemed chiefly to be transacted; they were, with scarcely an exception, vulgar, common people, and more given to drinking and smoking than is customary even in the wine-trade-as I had been used to it. Among them was one young man-he could not have been thirty-who used to come in frequently, and whom I at first disliked greatly; but my partner extolled him as the very impersonation of liberality and honour. His name was Scate, and I understood that he

represented an influential firm in the City. Whether my partner had spoken well of me to Mr Scate, in turn, I did not know, but the latter was always very courteous to me-after his style. I could hardly tell what he came for, but fancied, from occasional hints, that there were money transactions between him and my partner; but the latter always laughed off my inquiries, and said I should soon see what his business was. I certainly had an impression that, little as I liked the appearance of Mr Scate, he really did come on business, which was more than I could believe of many of our visitors, and was partly inclined to credit what my partner said of his extensive transactions.

Well, one day, five weeks after my last dividend was received, I found, on arriving at the office, a letter from my partner, regretting that circumstances altogether unforeseen, and entirely beyond his control, had compelled him to leave for America; he regretted also to say that the stockwhich had been mysteriously disappearing of late

could not meet the demands and liabilities, and he advised me to put myself in communication with some experienced solicitor.

As soon as I recovered from the shock of such a letter, I did seek a solicitor; but in one respect I need not have troubled myself, for at least half-a-dozen experienced solicitors put themselves into communication with me, much to my discomfort. The case was such a bad one; so many people had been 'let in;' the trading had been so reckless, and the disposal of all the best goods so suspicious, that serious thoughts were entertained of prosecuting me for fraud; but this was happily abandoned.

I learned how near and great had been my danger, from a clerk who was in the employ of one of the hostile solicitors. He had scraped an acquaintance with me while serving me with writs and all sorts of processes and worrying notices; but he was always cheerful and jocular even over such work as that; and when drinking a glass of port in the deserted counting-house where the wretched business had once been carried on, exhorted me to cheer up also. 'You're all right, mister,' he said one day. [I forget what particular errand he had then come upon, I only remember that it was to serve me with something terribly threatening.] 'You're all right; I can tell you that.'

'I am glad to hear it,' I replied. Probably my tone was somewhat doleful, but I don't see how it could have been anything else.

'Oh, come! pull yourself together, Mr Matley,' said the clerk; 'you've had a narrow squeak, of course; but you're safe now. They won't try it on after all."

'Try what on?' I naturally asked; for up to this time I had not suspected the existence of any such dangerous consultations as those of which I was so soon about to hear.

'Try what!' echoed the clerk, with a knowing shake of the head. 'Come, that's good, mister; I like to see a man carry it off like that.'

'Carry what?' I asked with some symptoms of annoyance.

The clerk, however, took interruption, and proceeded: thought they could have you

no notice of my You know they up for conspiracy

and fraud. But old Judahson was your friend -he was. He stuck up for you all through. Says he-for I heard him-"There's no conspiracy there," says he; "the man's nothing better than a fool," he says; "you can all see that. Talk about conspiracy!" he says; "why, I don't believe he'll go out of the concern with enough to buy himself a glass of ale and a sandwich for dinner, when he steps over the door and we put the shutters up. The man hasn't got brains enough to be a rogue."-Well, you see, mister, we all knew, and they all knew, that old Judahson was as good a judge of what a rogue was as any man on the rolls; so naturally he had great influence. So he got you off in style; and I'm glad of it. There was, however, two or three there that didn't know the old man, and they were inclined to be nasty; but there was another party there who spoke up well in your favour. My eye! he did give it to some of 'em.'

'Indeed,' I said. And who was he?'

'A friend of yours, I suppose,' answered the clerk; 'said he knew you well in the business. His name was Bate, or Crate-no! Scate-that was it. I thought he was going to let fly at one fellow. It was a game! But when I see what they have all done, it strikes me you won't have a brass farthing for yourself.'

My well-meaning although painfully vulgar friend was right. My creditors left me no farthings, or any other coin; and so total was the collapse, so utterly was I involved, that all the furniture worth speaking of at No. 9 Victoria Louisa Terrace, Kentish Town, was seized. Our home was stripped from top to bottom; bills were stuck all over the windows; auctioneers came, and brokers, and Jews, and shabby hangers-on-of every description, I was going to say; but they were indescribable. Sympathising neighbours came in too; not to buy, but to peep and quiz and titter; for I fear we had been considered stuck-up people, and it was felt that a little reverse was rather good for us than otherwise.

However, the sale took place; went off well, I was assured, for in most cases the goods fetched fully one-fourth of what I had given for them twelve or thirteen months before; and the auctioneer congratulated me. At last, all the hangers-on were gone, and the house was dull and void, save for the few things that were not seized, and for a few other articles which one of Susan's aunts had purchased back for our use. I had no near relatives. Susan's friends were quiet people, occupying a small farm in a Welsh inland county; and we determined not to trouble them; so this aunt, who lived in London on a small annuity, was the only one who knew of our downfall. She, then, was the only friend we expected to find at our sale; but, to our surprise, another one turned up in the person of my former acquaintance and recent champion, Mr Scate. Not only did he appear at the sale, but came up to me, and calling me 'old fellow,' said he was sorry to see such goingson in my house, that he knew all about the doings which had led to it, and considered I had been scandalously used.

Little as I had liked the man before, I remembered his exertions with my creditors on my

behalf, and was melted by his sympathy now; so warmly shook the hand he extended. Now, old boy,' he continued, 'what would you like me to buy in for you? Just say the word, and it's yours, even if I have to kick the whole of these swindlers out of the room to get it.'

I was more staggered than ever at this question, and could hardly get out my answer, that I would not trouble him.

He cut me short here. Trouble! nonsense! No trouble at all. I'll get something back from their claws.-There! he is just putting up that marble clock, and hark! that hook-nosed old villain has bid fifteen shillings for it! Why, it must be worth ten times as much.' With this, he began bidding; and his style, I may even say his swagger, was so impressive, that the men allowed him to have the clock for thirty shillings; while I am convinced they would have run it up to treble the money with any other stranger.

So the sale was over; the brokers and all the attendant vampires had gone; the carts, which had been standing about all the afternoon, were gone also; but the marks of muddy feet over all the rooms and on the staircase were not gone, nor were the wisps of dirty straw which lay in every corner and behind every door.

My wife and myself were sitting in what we called our breakfast-room, which looked out on the little sloping front garden with which all the houses in Victoria Louisa Terrace were furnished. Not that we were looking out then; for the gas was lighted, the blinds were down, and we were seated, talking sadly enough, in the room, which seemed so bare and wretched compared with its aspect of a day or two before. I pretended to bear up confidently, for I saw poor Susan's eyes fill with tears when she looked at the naked boards where had been such a comfortable dark carpet; or glanced at the common wooden chairs and table bought back out of our kitchen furniture, and now forced to serve instead of our plain but handsome leather-covered seats. She tried to hide these tears from me, and every time she caught my eye she smiled; but her lip trembled so in the effort, that it was almost worse than the burst of sobbing she was trying so hard to keep back. The solitary item which reminded us of our previous comfort and smartness was the marble clock, which ticked on the mantelpiece; and we had already said two or three times over, how greatly obliged we ought to feel to Mr Scate for his kindness.

I have said I pretended to bear up cheerfully; it was all pretence, for nothing could be more utterly hopeless than were our prospects; and what made us more miserable than we should otherwise have been, was what had previously given us great joy. Susan expected to have a baby in about a couple of months, and what were we to do then? Before that time arrived, it was clear that we must find another residence, for quarterday would come, and it was hopeless to think of going on where we were. Our present house was large enough to justify us in letting one floor— the card, indeed, with the simple announcement 'Apartments,' still hung idly in our window; but where was the furniture to come from?

'Don't you think, dear,' said my wife, trying to speak without a catch in her voice, 'that we

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