"I never forget friends," said Violet softly.

"God bless you for those words," said Stephen, half in a whisper, "you would think me mad if I told you what I am aiming at, it seems so far beyond my reach."

"I do not see why anything good and honourable should be beyond your reach, Mr Rivers, and I am sure you would wish for nothing that is not good," said Violet, very gravely.

"I fear that is something too good for me," answered. Stephen, "it is the very best thing the world possesses."

There was a long silence, the schoolmaster's manner was so strange that Violet hardly knew how to answer him.

"Well," she said presently, in a low tone, "whatever your object may be, I hope you will gain it, and I think you will. You will let us know how you get on," she went on, we shall all miss you very much."

"The Rector has been kind enough to make me promise to write to him," answered Stephen.

It was a relief to both to hear voices in the hall at that moment, and Mrs Melville and Edith entered the

room.

"I am so glad not to have missed you, Mr Rivers," said Mrs Melville, when she heard the reason of Stephen's call. "I did not know you were leaving to-morrow -now you must stay and have some supper with us, we are very hungry after our drive."

The good lady was full of interest in the young man's prospects, and all behaved to him with even more than their usual kindness.

At parting Violet raised her sweet face to his, and gave him a look that he treasured for years.

The Rector went with Stephen the next day to the station, where they found all the school boys waiting to give their master a parting cheer.

And so, surrounded by kindness and good will, he said farewell to Chiltern.

Letter from Stephen Rivers to Mrs Rivers.

EDINBURGH, November 18-. MY DEAR MOTHER.-When I wrote to you last week I could only tell you that I had passed the examinations successfully, and gained a Bursary, which will enable me to pay all my college expenses. So now I have really started on my career as a student of the famous University of Edinburgh, and I need not tell you that I am determined to make the very most of this opportunity. I am already looking forward to the day when I shall be in a position to give my dear mother such a home as she deserves, and repay her, in a small degree, for all her goodness and devotion to her boy.

I have taken a small lodging at the top of a very tall house. I have to mount seventy stairs to reach it, no doubt the exercise will strengthen the muscles of my legs. I have a small room with, what they call here, a bedcloset leading out of it. Everything is humble enough, but very clean. The view from my window of old Arthur's Seat is a constant pleasure to me. You know

it is the first really high hill I have ever seen.

I wish you could see Edinburgh, mother, it is indeed "beautiful for situation." I do not wonder that the Scotch are proud of their capital, "the Modern Athens"

Q

as they call it. I have already explored the old town thoroughly, you know my propensity for prowling,—it is very interesting and full of historical associations. But I am not going to make my letters like a guide book.

Mr Hunt's friend, Professor Urquhart, has been very kind to me in giving me all sorts of useful information, but as I am only a poor struggling student, and he a learned Professor, I shall seldom see him except at a respectful distance. I intend to be a most unsociable being while I am in Edinburgh, and shall not attempt to make any friends, but shall devote every moment to work. A daily or nightly walk in this beautiful country will be quite sufficient recreation for me. The time will pass happily, and only too quickly. You know that I have always loved my books—and I mean to try to be a very good boy, indeed-for, I believe, that to be a good learner is the first step towards being a good teacher-which I hope to be some day.

Your ever affectionate son,

STEPHEN RIVERS.

So Stephen as well as Edith started on a new career.

BOOK THIRD.

CHAPTER I.

DISAPPOINTMENT.

OUR old friend Mr Hunt was comfortably stretched out in his favourite chair, with his slippered feet resting on the hearthstone, and his inevitable pipe in his mouth; opposite him sat a little, shrivelled old man, at least his face was shrivelled, and the skin looked like parchment, but his body had the appearance of being made of wool or some such soft material; it was bulgy and unshapely, and gave one an uncomfortable feeling that it and the head did not match-it was, in fact, enveloped in rolls of flannel and wadding. But for all his packings, every now and then the old man shuddered. He was smoking cigars, and drinking brandy and soda; Mr Hunt was quenching his thirst with beer.

"Any news?" said the old man at last. He had been steadfastly contemplating the fire for full fifteen minutes, and consequently his parchment eyelids had been lowered; when he lifted them, somehow, the eyes they revealed looked as incongruous in that face as his head did on that body. They were large and clear and grey, if they had only been fringed by eye-lashes they

would have been soft; as it was, they were staring. But it was another peculiarity of this old man's that he had not a hair anywhere; the deficiency was supplied on his head by a most unnatural black wig, that looked as though it too had been shrivelled, and was shrinking away from the old head it covered. The artist who produced that "head-dress" evidently had a soul above deception.

"No, no news," answered Mr Hunt to his visitor's question; "things are just as bad as ever; he is-" at that moment came a knock at the studio door, and some one came in.

The studio was large, and but partially lighted by the fire and the single lamp on the table near it, which cast great weird shadows of the easels and lay figures on to the walls and ceiling. The corners and the far end of the room were dark, so that, till he came near, Mr Hunt did not recognise the new comer.

"Ah, Stephen Rivers!" he said; "very glad to see you. You won't join us in our tipple I know, but you will warm yourself and have a smoke."

Stephen drew near the fire, and the old man drew a little farther from it. He fixed his eyes curiously on the young man, and now he placed himself at such an angle that he could watch Stephen's face and keep his own out of sight.

There was a little talk about politics, but the three men appeared to be more absorbed in the important business of smoking than anything else; presently, the old one, having finished his third cigar and his tumbler, folded his arms and composed himself to sleep. After a few minutes his heavy breathing and occasional