"I have done something in astronomy," Leigh remarked, "and hope to do
more."

"Well, I must leave you now," said his conductor. "You must come and
dine with us soon. I would like you to meet my daughter. Say a week
from to-night, at seven. I 'll leave you here, if you wish, to examine
the telescope further. Doctor Renshaw will give you all necessary
information in regard to your rooms, the entrance examinations, _et
cetera_."

He had almost disappeared down the stairs as he said these words.
Presently his head and shoulders arose once more above the roof.

"And here are the keys," he added. "What did you say your given name
was?"

"Llewellyn," Leigh answered, surprised at the abruptness of the
question.

"Ah," said the bishop, chuckling softly, "so it is. A good Welsh name,
but Peter would be more appropriate under the circumstances."

With this little jest, whose significance Leigh was somewhat slow in
grasping, he once more descended the stairs.

It was now high noon, and Leigh, left alone, paced up and down the
large, sunny square, filled with appreciative thoughts of the bishop.
So benign and humorous was the presence of the man that for some time
his influence survived his actual departure and precluded other
thoughts. In a reactionary glow of hope and confidence the young