as changing her frock--addressed the Fellows, and presented
to them the Papist by him chosen to be their Warden, instead of the
Protestant whom they had elected. They were not of so stern a stuff as
the Fellows of Magdalen, who, despite His Majesty's menaces, had just
rejected Bishop Farmer. The Papist was elected, there and then, al
fresco, without dissent. Cannot one see them, these Fellows of Judas,
huddled together round the sun-dial, like so many sheep in a storm? The
King's wrath, according to a contemporary record, was so appeased by
their pliancy that he deigned to lie for two nights in Judas, and at
a grand refection in Hall "was gracious and merrie." Perhaps it was in
lingering gratitude for such patronage that Judas remained so pious to
his memory even after smug Herrenhausen had been dumped down on us for
ever. Certainly, of all the Colleges none was more ardent than Judas for
James Stuart. Thither it was that young Sir Harry Esson led, under cover
of night, three-score recruits whom he had enlisted in the surrounding
villages. The cloisters of Salt Cellar were piled with arms and stores;
and on its grass--its sacred grass!--the squad was incessantly drilled,
against the good day when Ormond should land his men in Devon. For a
whole month Salt Cellar was a secret camp. But somehow, at length--woe
to "lost causes and impossible loyalties"--Herrenhausen had wind of
it; and one night, when the soldiers of the white cockade lay snoring
beneath the stars, stealthily the white-faced Warden unbarred his
postern--that very postern through which now Zuleika had passed on the
way to her bedroom--and stealthily through it, one by one on tip-toe,
came the King's foot-guards. Not many shots rang out, nor many swords
clashed, in the night air, before the trick was won for law and order.
Most of the rebels were overpowered in their sleep; and those who had
time to snatch arms were too dazed to make good resistance. Sir Harry
Esson himself was the only one who did not live to be hanged. He had
sprung up alert, sword in hand, at the first alarm, setting his back to
the cloisters. There he fought calmly, ferociously, till a bullet went
through his chest. "By God, this College is well-named!" were the words
he uttered as he fell forward and died.

Comparatively tame was the scene now being enacted in this place. The
Duke, with bowed head, was pacing the path between the lawn and the
cloisters. Two other undergraduates stood wat