"He, or rather Lady Ellinor, is an old friend of both."

"And therefore would listen to your recommendations of me. But perhaps
I may not need them. So you have left--left of your own accord--a
situation that seemed more enjoyable, I should think, than rooms in a
college. Left, why did you leave?"

And Vivian fixed his bright eyes full and piercingly on mine.

"It was only for a time, for a trial, that I was there," said I,
evasively; "out at nurse, as it were, till the Alma Mater opened her
arms,--alma indeed she ought to be to my father's son."

Vivian looked unsatisfied with my explanation, but did not question me
further. He himself was the first to turn the conversation, and he did
this with more affectionate cordiality than was common to him. He
inquired into our general plans, into the probabilities of our return to
town, and drew from me a description of our rural Tusculum. He was
quiet and subdued; and once or twice I thought there was a moisture in
those luminous eyes. We parted with more of the unreserve and fondness
of youthful friendship--at least on my part, and seemingly on his--than
had yet endeared our singular intimacy; for the cement of cordial
attachment had been wanting to an intercourse in which one party refused
all confidence, and the other mingled distrust and fear with keen
interest and compassionate admiration.

That evening, before lights were brought in, my father, turning to me,
abruptly asked if I had seen my friend, and what he was about to do.