he one true bridal.

He flung back his head, spread wide his arms, quickened his pace almost
to running speed. Ah, he would win his bride before the setting of the
sun. He knew not by what means he would win her. Enough that even now,
full-hearted, fleet-footed, he was on his way to her, and that she heard
him coming.

When Zuleika, a vision in vaporous white, came out through the postern,
she wondered why he was walking at so remarkable a pace. To him, wildly
expressing in his movement the thought within him, she appeared as his
awful bride. With a cry of joy, he bounded towards her, and would have
caught her in his arms, had she not stepped nimbly aside.

"Forgive me!" he said, after a pause. "It was a mistake--an idiotic
mistake of identity. I thought you were..."

Zuleika, rigid, asked "Have I many doubles?"

"You know well that in all the world is none so blest as to be like you.
I can only say that I was over-wrought. I can only say that it shall not
occur again."

She was very angry indeed. Of his penitence there could be no doubt. But
there are outrages for which no penitence can atone. This seemed to be
one of them. Her first impulse was to dismiss the Duke forthwith and for
ever. But she wanted to show herself at the races. And she could not go
alone. And except the Duke there was no one to take her. True, there was
the concert to-night; and she could show herself there to advantage; but
she wanted ALL Oxford to see her--see her NOW.

"I am forgiven?" he asked. In her, I am afraid, self-respect outweighed
charity. "I will try," she said merely, "to forget what you have done."
Motioning him to her side, she opened her parasol, and signified her
readiness to start.

They passed together across the vast gravelled expanse of the Front
Quadrangle. In the porch of the College there were, as usual, some
chained-up dogs, patiently awaiting their masters. Zuleika, of course,
did not care for dogs. One has never known a good man to whom dogs were
not dear; but many of the best women have no such fondness. You will
find that the woman who is really kind to dogs is always one who has
failed to inspire sympathy in men. For the attractive woman, dogs are
mere dumb and restless brutes--possibly dangerous, certainly soulless.
Yet will coquetry teach her to caress any dog in the presence of a
man enslaved by her. Even Zuleika, it seems, was not above this rather
obvious device for awaking envy. Be sure she did not at