und him were old books that had
belonged to famous students of old--Scaliger, Meursius, Muretus--and
before him lay the proof-sheets of his long-deferred work, a new
critical edition of "Demetrius of Scepsis."

Looking at his friend, Maitland envied the learned calm of a man who had
not contrived, in the task of developing his own human nature, to become
involved, like his pupil, in a singular and deplorable conjuncture of
circumstances.

"The men are making a terrible riot in quad," he said, answering the
other's remark.

"Yes, yes," replied Bielby, genially; "boys will be boys, and so will
young men. I believe our Torpid has bumped Keble, and the event is being
celebrated."

Here there came a terrific howl from without, and a crash of broken
glass.

"There go some windows into their battels," said Mr. Bielby. "They will
hear of this from the Provost But what brings you here, Maitland, so
unexpectedly? Very glad to see you, whatever it is."

"Well, sir," said Maitland, "I rather want to ask your advice on an
important matter. The fact is, to begin at the beginning of a long
story, that some time ago I got, more or less, engaged to be married."

This was not a very ardent or lover-like announcement, but Bielby seemed
gratified.

"Ah-ha," replied the tutor, with a humorous twinkle. "Happy to hear it
Indeed, I _had_ heard a rumor, a whisper! A little bird, as they say,
brought a hint of it--I hope, Maitland, a happy omen! A pleasant woman
of the world, one who can take her own part in society, and your part,
too, a little--if you will let me say so--is exactly what you need. I
congratulate you very heartily. And are we likely to see the young lady
in Oxford? Where is she just now?"

Maitland saw that the learned Bielby had indeed heard something, and not
the right thing. He flushed all over as he thought of the truth, and of
Mrs. St John Deloraine.

"I'm sure I wish I knew," said Maitland at last, beginning to find this
consulting of the oracle a little difficult. "The fact is, that's just
what I wanted to consult you about. I--I'm afraid I've lost all traces
of the young lady."

"Why, what do you mean?" asked the don, his face suddenly growing grave,
while his voice had not yet lost its humorous tone. "She has not eloped?
You don't mean to tell me she has run away from you?"

"I really don't know what to say," answered Maitland. "I'm afraid
she has been run away with, that she is the victim of some plot o