ely they will call; they will see you--they----"

"Will take an overwhelming fancy to me? just as you have done," says
she, with a quick, rather curious light in her eyes, and a tilting of
her pretty chin. "There! _go_," says she, "I have some work to do; and
you have your classes. It would never do for you to miss _them_. And as
for next week!--make it next month! I wouldn't for the world be a
trouble to you in any way."

"I shall come next week," says the professor, troubled in somewise by
the meaning in her eyes. What is it? Simple loneliness, or misery
downright? How young she looks--what a child! That tragic air does not
belong to her of right. She should be all laughter, and lightness, and
mirth----

"As you will," says she; her tone has grown almost haughty; there is a
sense of remorse in his breast as he goes down the stairs. Has he been
kind to old Wynter's child? Has he been true to his trust? There had
been an expression that might almost be termed despair in the young face
as he left her. Her face, with that expression on it, haunts him all
down the road.

Yes. He will call next week. What day is this? Friday. And Friday next
he is bound to deliver a lecture somewhere--he is not sure where, but
certainly somewhere. Well, Saturday then he might call. But that----

Why not call Thursday--or even Wednesday?

Wednesday let it be. He needn't call every week, but he had said
something about calling next week, and--she wouldn't care, of
course--but one should keep their word. What a strange little face she
has--and strange manners, and--not able to get on evidently with her
present surroundings.

What an old devil that aunt must be.

CHAPTER IV.

"Dear, if you knew what tears they shed,
Who live apart from home and friend,
To pass my house, by pity led,
Your steps would tend."

He makes the acquaintance of the latter very shortly. But requires no
spoon to sup with her, as Miss Majendie's invitations to supper, or
indeed to luncheon, breakfast or dinner, are so few and rare that it
might be rash for a hungry man to count on them.

The professor, who has felt it to be his duty to call on his ward
regularly every week, has learned to know and (I regret to say) to
loathe that estimable spinster christened Jane Majendie.

After every visit to her house he has sworn to himself that "_this one_"
shall be his last, and every Wednesday following he has gone again.
Indeed, to-day