with a sigh which seemed to express satisfaction--(some
people always sigh when they thank God)--"I am afraid you are unprepared
for the consolations of religion."

"Of such a religion as yours, most certainly," interrupted Julian, with
haughty vehemence.

"The natural man, you see--" He stopped as he saw Julian's hand
fidgeting towards the water-bottle. "Ah! well, you will have still to
sit at the sizars' table, and dine on the Fellows' leavings; perhaps it
might inscrutably be good for you to bear the yoke--"

Had the fellow come to insult him? Was he there on purpose to gratify
his malice at another's misfortune, under the pretext of pious
reflections? Half-a-dozen times Julian had thought so, and thought so
correctly. Hazlet's very little and very ignorant mind had been fed
into self-complacency by the cheering belief that he and his friends
formed a select party whose future welfare was secure, while "the world"
was very wicked, and destined to everlasting burning; and in proportion
to his gross conceit, was he nettled with the evident manner in which
Julian, though without any rudeness, avoided his company even at Ildown,
where he reigned with undisputed sway among his own admiring circle of
_gynaikazia_. (Excuse the word, gentle reader; it is Saint Paul's--not
mine.) Hazlet had come there, though in the depth of his hypocrisy he
hardly knew it himself, to enjoy a little triumph over Julian's pride,
and to pour a little vinegar, in the guise of a good Samaritan, on
wounds which he knew to be bleeding still.

In saying the last sentence, in which he cut Julian to the very quick,
Hazlet had seemed to his victim's excited imagination to be actually
smacking his lips with undisguised delight. "Ah, you will have still to
dine at the sizars' table on the Fellows' leavings." Julian knew that
the form of the sentence made it most maliciously and odiously false;--
and that this hypocritical son of Belial should address him at such a
moment in such a way was so revolting to his own generous spirit, that
he could endure it no longer.

"What did you say?" he asked sharply.

"Of course, my dear Ju--, Home, I mean--poverty is no disgrace to you,
you know. Some of the sizars are pious men, I have no doubt, and I dare
say the Fellows leave--"

"I swear this is too much," said Julian, using the only oath that ever
in all his life-time crossed his lips. "You canting and mean--Pshaw!
you are beneath my abuse. _Si