relatives.     

       Through those slums which connect Oxford with the world, the landau rolled on towards Judas. Not many youths occurred, for nearly all—it was the Monday of Eights Week—were down by the river, cheering the crews. There did, however, come spurring by, on a polo-pony, a very splendid youth. His straw hat was encircled with a riband of blue and white, and he raised it to the Warden.     

       “That,” said the Warden, “is the Duke of Dorset, a member of my College. He dines at my table to-night.”      

       Zuleika, turning to regard his Grace, saw that he had not reined in and was not even glancing back at her over his shoulder. She gave a little start of dismay, but scarcely had her lips pouted ere they curved to a smile—a smile with no malice in its corners.     

       As the landau rolled into “the Corn,” another youth—a pedestrian, and very different—saluted the Warden. He wore a black jacket, rusty and amorphous. His trousers were too short, and he himself was too short:       almost a dwarf. His face was as plain as his gait was undistinguished. He squinted behind spectacles.     

       “And who is that?” asked Zuleika.     

       A deep flush overspread the cheek of the Warden. “That,” he said, “is also a member of Judas. His name, I believe, is Noaks.”      

       “Is he dining with us to-night?” asked Zuleika.     

       “Certainly not,” said the Warden. “Most decidedly not.”      

       Noaks, unlike the Duke, had stopped for an ardent retrospect. He gazed till the landau was out of his short sight; then, sighing, resumed his solitary walk.     

       The landau was rolling into “the Broad,” over that ground which had once blackened under the fagots lit for Latimer and Ridley. It rolled past the portals of Balliol and of Trinity, past the Ashmolean. From those pedestals which intersperse the railing of the Sheldonian, the high grim busts of the Roman Emperors stared down at the fair stranger in the equipage. Zuleika returned their stare with but a casual glance. The inanimate had little charm for her.     

       A moment later, a certain old don emerged from Blackwell’s, where he had been buying books. Looking across the road, he saw, to his 

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