say
something about the lady, but to his annoyance, he said nothing at all.
John could not ask questions, seeing it was none of his business and was
fain to content himself with thinking of the lady's face and voice. He
felt very uncomfortable at dinner. He thought the excellent Mrs. Ambrose
eyed him with unusual severity, as though suspecting what he was thinking
about, and he thought the vicar's grey eye twinkled occasionally with the
pleasant sense of possessing a secret he had no intention of imparting.
As a matter of fact Mrs. Ambrose was supremely unconscious of the fact
that John had seen the lady, and looked at him with some curiosity,
observing that he seemed nervous and blushed from time to time and was
more silent than usual. She came to the conclusion that he had been
working too hard, as usual, and that night requested him to take two
little pellets of aconite, and to repeat the dose in the morning. Whether
it was the result of the homoeopathic medicine or of the lapse of a few
hours and a good night's rest, it is impossible to say; John, however,
was himself again the next morning and showed no further signs of
nervousness. But he kept his eyes and ears open, hoping for some news of
the exquisite creature who had made so profound an impression on his
heart.

In due time the joyful news arrived from Cambridge that the Honourable
Cornelius had passed his examination and was at liberty to matriculate at
the beginning of the term. The intelligence was duly telegraphed to his
father, and in a few hours came a despatch in answer, full of
affectionate congratulation and requesting that Cornelius should proceed
at once to Paris, where his father was waiting for him. The young man
took an affectionate leave of the vicar, of Mrs. Ambrose and especially
of John Short, for whom he had conceived an almost superstitious
admiration; old Reynolds was not forgotten in the farewell, and for
several days after Angleside's departure the aged gardener was observed
to walk somewhat unsteadily and to wear a peculiarly thoughtful
expression; while the vicar observed with annoyance that Strawberry, the
old mare, was less carefully groomed than usual. Strangely coincident
with these phenomena was the fact that Simon Gunn's yellow cat seemed to
have entirely repented of her evil practices, renouncing from the day
when Cornelius left for Paris her periodical invasion of the asparagus
beds at the foot of the garden. But the vicar was