confirmed by continued companionship. Coningsby and Henry Sydney, and
Buckhurst and Vere, were still bound together by entire sympathy, and by
the affection of which sympathy is the only sure spring. But their
intimacies had been increased by another familiar friend. There had risen
up between Coningsby and Millbank mutual sentiments of deep, and even
ardent, regard. Acquaintance had developed the superior qualities of
Millbank. His thoughtful and inquiring mind, his inflexible integrity, his
stern independence, and yet the engaging union of extreme tenderness of
heart with all this strength of character, had won the goodwill, and often
excited the admiration, of Coningsby. Our hero, too, was gratified by the
affectionate deference that was often shown to him by one who condescended
to no other individual; he was proud of having saved the life of a member
of their community whom masters and boys alike considered; and he ended by
loving the being on whom he had conferred a great obligation.

The friends of Coningsby, the sweet-tempered and intelligent Henry Sydney,
the fiery and generous Buckhurst, and the calm and sagacious Vere, had
ever been favourably inclined to Millbank, and had they not been, the
example of Coningsby would soon have influenced them. He had obtained over
his intimates the ascendant power, which is the destiny of genius. Nor was
this submission of such spirits to be held cheap. Although they were
willing to take the colour of their minds from him, they were in intellect
and attainments, in personal accomplishments and general character, the
leaders of the school; an authority not to be won from five hundred high-
spirited boys without the possession of great virtues and great talents.

As for the dominion of Coningsby himself, it was not limited to the
immediate circle of his friends. He had become the hero of Eton; the being
of whose existence everybody was proud, and in whose career every boy took
an interest. They talked of him, they quoted him, they imitated him. Fame