it could be no other, the face was turned towards her, it was the
stranger fireman! His very step bespoke the man, as with folded arms and
solemn tread he followed in the funeral cortege.

That evening Hal Delancey returned home, his countenance beaming with
joy, in strange contrast with the gloom of the day. "May, he is safe
again!" was his first exclamation, "He is a perfect Neptune, Vulcan,
master of fire and flood. Neither the surging eddies of Hurl Gate, nor
ghastly flames and crashing beams have been able to overcome him. How he
escaped he scarcely knows, and yet he does not bear a scar. So skilful,
so agile, so brave, so dominant over all dangers, we easily might fancy
him one of the old heathen deities!"

The next day there was to be some public literary exercise at the
university, to which the alderman's family had been invited. May
remembered Hal's once saying that he saw the fireman disappear somewhere
around that venerable building, so an early hour found her seated at her
father's side in the solemn-looking chapel, watching the arrival of the
spectators, but more particularly the entrance of the students. The
exercises commenced, still May had discovered no face resembling the
fireman of her dreams. Several essays were pronounced with ease and
grace, and the alderman took a fitting occasion to make a complimentary
remark to one of the officers of the institution who was seated near
him. "Exactly, exactly," echoed the professor, "but wait until young
Sherwood speaks!"

Marion Sherwood was called, and there arose from among the heavy folds
of the curtain that had almost entirely concealed him, a student who
advanced with the dignity of a Jupiter and the grace of an Apollo. Duty
was his theme. The words flowed in a resistless torrent from his lips.