'You are tired,” said Luke Waller; but there was little or no sympathy in the remark.

"I am, and hungry. I very nearly took that first fish into a public on the river and had a steak cut out of him; but I thought a brace of salmon would look far better at the Hermitage."

Although the organist did not much care for Phil Ransford's society, he could not well resist a hint so pointedly given.

"Have one cut now-stay and sup with us," said the old man. "I should just be in time for dinner at home," said Phil; "but salmon cutlets and Hermitage society !—Mr. Waller, I accept your most kind invitation."

"That is well," said the old man. supper."

"Mary, my love, order the

Phil Ransford watched the young lady as she left the room, and Clytie answered his admiring gaze with a look of conscious triumph. There was hardly a girl in Dunelm who would not have accepted Phil Ransford as a lover. He was even freely admitted to the Cathedral society. Educated at Harrow and Cambridge, young Ransford had a double claim to recognition. He had received the traditional training of a gentleman, and was rich; he excelled in manly sports, danced like an angel according to several flighty young things of forty, was a member of the Reform, and would some day, if he chose, sit in the House of Commons. Luke Waller was therefore somewhat flattered at Mr. Ransford's attentions, and Clytie encouraged them, because she rather enjoyed the jealousy and spitefulness of the Cathedral set who systematically kept her out of the society of the Close. But old Waller never left Ransford and Clytie alone; he had twice refused to allow Phil to see her home from those outside evening parties at which they occasionally met; but he had not been able to prevent Phil Ransford from stopping her now and then in the quiet old streets, and talking to her. Dunelm was such a dear silent old city that two people might step aside into an odd nook or corner, in the shadow of an old archway, or beneath an old tree, and talk to each other for an hour without being seen by any one. But it was enough for the old city if the gossips or lovers were seen by one person; the incident was soon reported; it was not necessary to employ the town crier, though Dunelm went to the expense of having such an officer. Phil Ransford frequently flung himself in the way of Clytie, and Tom Mayfield was jealous of him. Ransford had six months' start of the young student. He made a sort of declaration of love to the lady four weeks before that vision of beauty appeared to Tom, recalling to his

fancy his favourite bust of Clytie which was the only ornament in his little room near St. Cuthbert's gateway, where they rested the mythical bones of the patron saint in the mythical days of old.

CHAPTER II.

66 FRIENDS OR FOES?"

“I LOVE you,” said Tom Mayfield. "You round, bewitching beauty; if you will only be mine I will never desert you, like the fool in the story."

He was addressing a large Parian bust of 'Clytie. It stood upon his table amidst a pile of books and examination papers.

"I am not rich like that coarse, vulgar Ransford; but I have a heart that is true and faithful; I never loved before; I have an independent income of two hundred a year; I am an orphan; I mean to go to the Bar, and with you by my side I will make a name and fortune."

He moved the bust round and put his hand upon it.

seventeen.

"My dear Clytie! I am only twenty-two. They tell me you are Our ages fit admirably. The man should be a few years older than the woman. I am sufficiently romantic to be an interesting lover, but a practical fellow for all that. I should take care of you and protect you; and I should be proud of you. I want no money with you, and your dear old grandfather shall always have a seat in the ingle-nook."

The light fell upon the statue; fell tenderly upon the wavy hair; upon the full round bosom. Tom Mayfield looked at it and sighed.

"Let me see," he said, taking up a copy of Lemprière, "who were you in the classic days? A daughter of Oceanus and Tethys, beloved by Apollo, who deserted you for Leucothea. You pined

away and were changed into a sunflower, and you still turn to the sun as in pledge of your love. Turn to me, my dear Clytie! Let me be your sun; I will always shine upon you, always be warm and gentle and loving."

He moved the figure again, that he might contemplate the threequarter face.

"Upon my soul it is a marvellous likeness! What a lovely, dreamy face it is!"

Then he turned over again the pages of the dictionary.

"There was another Clytie. What! A concubine of Amyntor,

son of Phrastor, whose calumny caused Amyntor to put out the eyes of his falsely accused son Phoenix!"

The young student took up a pen and blotted from the book all the other Clyties except the one beloved of Apollo.

"A concubine indeed! Perish the thought. Heaven would not permit it. But they call Ransford a woman-killer. They say he is a very gay fellow in town; they say he lured that pretty daughter of old Pim the verger to London. Yes, now I remember the story; it

killed the old man."

He paced the room.

"Why do these dark thoughts come into my mind just now? A hint of suspicion, even in fancy, is an insult to her.

My very soul blushes at it. By heavens, if Ransford harboured a dishonourable thought against her I would kill him like a dog!"

A knock at the door.

"Mr. Philip Ransford," said the servant.

Tom Mayfield started and rubbed his eyes as if he were in a dream.

"You are surprised to see me," said Phil.

Tom did not speak.

"You are more than surprised; my visit does not seem agreeable to you."

'Pray forgive me," said the student, recovering his self-possession. "My mind was taken up just then with a very knotty and curious question."

"Ah, a problem in Euclid?"

"No; a supposititious incident cropping up out of a classical story. Take a seat, Mr. Ransford."

"May I smoke?" asked Phil, producing a cigar case.

"By all means; I will light up too."

Tom filled his favourite meerschaum; Phil Ransford lighted a cigar.

"I ventured to call as I was passing to ask if you would come and dine with us to-morrow; I expect a friend or two in a quiet way— not a dinner party, you know-would have done the formal thing, but you said you were not a stickler for ceremonies when I met you at the Dean's the other evening, and, as I saw your lamp gleaming out and attracting all the moths in the Green to your window, I determined all in a minute to drop in upon you."

"Very kind of you," said Tom. "I will come; I was thinking of you when you knocked at the door. Do you believe in spiritualism?" "No."

"Nor I."

"Why do you ask?"

"Don't know. How do you account for those startling coincidences which occur to all of us? For example, the moment you were near my rooms I began to think of you.. It was curious that you should step in just as I was registering a sort of vow concerning you." "Concerning me? a vow?" said Mr. Ransford, taking his cigar from his mouth.

“Yes,” said Tom Mayfield, smoking steadily. "Odd, is it not, and I have only known you about six weeks?"

"Are you joking?"

“No,” said Tom, "you have no idea what an interest I take in you."

“And you were thinking of me the moment I entered?"

"I was."

"Did I form part of the problem you were trying to solve?" "You did."

Phil Ransford smiled and relighted his cigar with affected calmness. Tom Mayfield looked straight at him with a quiet composure, but not unkindly.

"Will you explain?" said Mr. Ransford.

"Some other time," said Tom Mayfield.

"No time like the present,” replied Phil, who mentally measured his own strength against Tom's, and felt that the odds were in his favour.

"Some other time," said Tom firmly. "At what hour do you dine?" "Six; but look here, don't you know, there is something in your manner which is mysterious and not altogether friendly-let us understand each other.”

"We do, perfectly, my dear friend," said Tom, knocking the ashes from his pipe. "And I hope we shall be good friends; they tell me your wine is even finer than the Dean's. Did I not see you starting on a fishing excursion this morning?"

"You did. I called on old Waller as I came back, and emptied my creel at the Hermitage."

Tom winced, but the smoke hid his face sufficiently to prevent Phil Ransford from noticing the effect of his shot.

"Ah, you visit at the Hermitage?"

"Occasionally."

"What will you drink?"

"Nothing, thank you."

"Sure! Have some claret ?"

"No, thank you; I must get home. I will not keep you from your studies any longer. I used to burn the midnight oil myself. Good night. To-morrow at six, then, I shall have the pleasure of seeing you ?"

66 Thank you, yes," said Tom. "Good night.”

"I must not be rash,” said Tom, when he had shut the door. “I don't like him, Clytie! I register that vow in thy name!"

"Humph!" grunted Phil Kansford, as he strode over the Green, "that was the bust on his table. It's devilish like; never saw such a portrait. He was thinking of me, was he? And was thinking what might be the result of a supposititious incident in real life. There was an ugly look in his eyes. Ah! ah! He's as jealous as a Turk, and without the right to be. She says she has only spoken to him twice. We shall see what we shall see. I'll either be friend or foe, whichever he likes. Heaven help him if he shows fight. I'll soon make Dunelm too hot for him or London either, for that matter-damned pauper!"

CHAPTER III.

IN THE ORGAN LOFT.

TOM MAYFIELD made the acquaintance of the Ransford family at dinner, as arranged. They were good sort of people in their way, believed in money, and were at the same time proud of Phil having worn a gown. It was absolutely necessary that you should have done so, to get into the inner circle of Dunelm society. When you did get there, it was not much to boast of; still, it was the thing to be there, and the Dean was a grand old boy who understood the secret of dining, and knew by heart and taste the best port wine vintages.

Phil Ransford had a father and mother and some brothers and sisters, but it is not necessary to introduce them here. They treated Tom Mayfield with deference and respect; he had a way of commanding both, and especially when Money stood up and challenged Intellect. Phil was courteous and hospitable, and politely considerate in his attentions to the young student.

"Why is she not invited to his house?" Tom asked himself, as he walked to his chambers from the big house on the hill. "Why do not his sisters call upon her? She is the granddaughter of a professional man. Old Waller is clever too, behaves himself like a gentleman, dines now and then with the Dean, was introduced to the Dean and Chapter by a lord."

"Tom puzzled himself with a variety of questions all the way home, and when he got there he again addressed himself to Clytie.