time he had eaten his steak and drunk for the first time some of the famous London stout, Stephen was himself again. The waiter, who had taken a fancy to him, actually allowed him to have a bottle of 15s. port; and our hero, sipping this nectar and cracking his filberts, almost forgot Anne Page and the tragical fact that his heart was broken. Although the other occupants of the coffee-room were chiefly clergymen, they were not devoid of vivacity. Stephen watched with much interest a party of three who dined at a table near him. One of these, a man nearly fifty, but bearing his years as if they were a light load, was evidently facetious almost beyond endurance. When the sweet o' the night came on, and the duller folk retired, and the trio in question had begun to smoke, their laughter had scarcely any intermission. Every now and then Stephen caught snatches of strange rhyme, as thus "Sow your poetic oats Not to say wild oats; On which this child dotes !" 66 Frederic, bring the materials for a bowl of punch. And," he continued, addressing Stephen, "if you, young gentleman, are not afraid of a splitting headache in the morning, perhaps you'll come over and join us?" Stephen expressed his pleasure. "Youth," said the unknown, "seldom enters this mahogany-coloured room, or sees dignitaries of the Church drink good punch and make bad verses. But it may not be unprofitable to you, my young friend, of whose name I am ignorant "Stephen Langton, sir," he interposed. "An excellent ecclesiastical name -the name of a man to whom England owes much. It may not be unprofitable to you, Mr. Langton, to learn by actual observation that clergymen are human." "Some clergymen," remarked one of his friends. "A timely qualification, my worthy frere. The priesthood are indeed divisible into three classes: they are either men, women, or fiends. Now, my fiendish brother would excommunicate me and send me-you all know where, for concocting this wonderful bowl of liquid headache: and my womanish brother would pray for me, hysterically, but you, my manly brethren, will right manfully help me to drink it." The punch was worthy of its maker, whose humorous eye twinkled as he tasted it. "Will it do, Mr. Langton ?" he asked. "I never tasted punch before," said Stephen, frankly. "It is delicious." "Frederic," said the Rhymer," see that the doors are shut, or my bass voice may wake some of my sleeping brethren. I am about to sing a song which I did into English from Béranger the other day. 'Tis called The Keys of Paradise." He had a noble bass voice, and did justice to the rather heterodox lyric. "Noble Saint Peter lost, of late, The golden keys of the heavenly gate; 'Twon't do, you know: Give me my keys!' exclaimed Saint "Margaret lost not a moment's time, (Queerest story ever put in metre!) "Twon't do, you know: Give me my keys!' exclaimed Saint Peter. "Singing together passed merrily through A Protestant, a Turk, a Jew (Queerest story ever put in metre!) Then came a Pope, the Popedom's pride, Who, but for Maggy, would have stayed outside. 'I say, Margot! "Twon't do, you know: Give me my keys!' exclaimed Saint Peter. "Jesuits, too, whom we all detest, Came for a seat among the blest, Sat with the seraphs on the foremost 'I say, Margot! "Twon't do, you know: Give me my keys! exclaimed Saint Peter. Vainly did a fool exclaim, That such facility was downright blame, (Queerest story ever put in metre !) For Satan escaped from his hot restraint, And the beauty made him a horned saint. 'I say, Margot! 'Twon't do, you know: her. She is too young to know her own mind. And the man you call your friend was not your friend. Friends are few, Mr. Langton. Be your own friend. Take your own part. That is the best advice I can Give me my keys!' exclaimed Saint give you. And now, if it is not too Peter. "Much too bad," chorussed his companions. "Oh, no doubt, Maggy relented in time," said one of them, after she had frightened the apostolic suitor." "I don't know," said Stephen. "Young ladies are cruel creatures." "Ho, ho!" exclaimed the Rhymer, "that's where you are, is it? A vittim of feminine heartlessness. Perfida, sed quamvis perfida, cara tamen. Why not us tell your story? You need not name names, as the Speaker would say. It will do you good." "I don't suppose, ," said Stephen, "it will do me any harm. The simple truth is that I was engaged to marry a young lady, with the approval of her father; that, on her father's death, her guardians declined to allow me to see her; and that my most intimate friend, having access to her, persuaded her to elope with him." "You are laudably laconic," said the Rhymer. I hope the event has not turned you into a Byronic misanthrope. How old was the lady ?" "Nearly seventeen." "Ah, a child. You can't blame late, and nobody objects, and the punch is not exhausted, I'll tell you a short story." The offer was received with enthusiasm. 66 A young man whom I knew fell in love. He was the son of a perpetual curate-which happily does not mean a man doomed to perpetual curacy. The lady whom he loved was the only child of the Lord of the Manor, a many-acred baronet. She was beautiful beyond the imagination of man, of course. Cela va sans dire. When I last saw her she was a very puffy old personage.' "The hero of my story, whom I will call Smith to save trouble, was much given to dreaming. He dreamt one night that a Greek book in his father's library lay open before him, and that on one of the pages a single line stood out in red letters, and it was revealed to him that if he uttered that line thrice his lady-love would come to him wherever he was. he could not, when he awoke, recollect the line; and as he knew exactly as much Greek as Byron's Donna Inez, it was not quite clear to him how to look for it. He felt sure, however, that if he saw the line he should recognize it. But Now, though Smith was a dolt, Smith's father was very much the reverse, and was the possessor of a very fair library, wherein there was much Greek. Smith astounded his father by suddenly taking to the study of Greek. It was in a curious fashion though. He took the first Greek volume on a given shelf, seated himself (he was a lazy rascal) in an easy chair, and looked carefully through it for a certain line. Smith's father was amazed to see his son read Greek so rapidly. Being a very Low Churchman, and a firm believer in all manner of miracles, he began to think his son had the gift of tongues. Smith rattled away through Eschylus, Sophocles, Homer, Herodotus, Pindar, and Plato, and a good many other fellows in the same line of business, at a pace unparalleled. I'm not at all surprised at Smith's recognizing it. Having recognized it, he toiled hard to learn it by heart. This did not take him above an hour and a half. He carried away this famous line in his brain, and when he went to bed that night he uttered the spell. "At the first utterance of the magicalverse there was a sound as if water were being poured into a vessel. "At the second utterance of the magical verse there was a strong smell of brown Windsor soap. "At the third utterance of the magical verse the walls of the chamber opened, and the lady entered, sitting in her night-dress, with her feet in hot water." Here the Rhymer made an obstinate pause. "Did she speak?" asked Stephen. "What happened?" "I know nothing more. The canon says, Solus cum solâ non presumitur orare. The young man is now a Bishop, and pretty often in hot water himself." Soon after this queer tale had been told, they went to bed, the Rhymer telling Stephen that he should be glad to meet him at breakfast. The other two gentlemen were off by an early coach to distant country parsonages. Stephen awoke the next morning with the great-grandfather of headaches. He was young, you know, and unaccustomed to punch. Much icy water scarcely removed the leaden oppression on his brow, and he felt thankful that the breakfast hour was late. His new acquaintance had appointed eleven. And at eleven they met. Everybody else in that sedate hostelry had breakfasted long before. With the sagacity which experience confers, the Rhymer ordered Stephen to begin with the soda and brandy, and then recommended him some anchovies done on toast. To his amazement, our young friend found he could eat. As to his companion, his appetite was Homeric. And, having elicited from Stephen his position in the world, and his utterly indefinite designs, he proceeded to give him some excellent advice. As it turned out entirely useless, it is scarcely worth while to record it here. I am sure my readers would not take any of it. They were long over their breakfast. The Rhymer, as I must continue to call him, for Stephen was unable to extract his name from Frederic or anybody else in the establishment of the Faithfull, had nothing to do all the morning, and so, as he said, could indulge his laziness. So the ripe and thoughtful clergyman, whose humour years had not destroyed, and the mere boy, dreamy and poetic, full of wonder as to what years might give him, gossipped loiteringly together over their coffee. Amid their gossip entered a singularly handsome young man, of the middle height, dressed in the utmost fashion. The affable Frederic approached him, somewhat awed by an aristocratic apparition of an order that coffee-room seldom saw. "Waiter," he said, "is Mr. Langton staying here?" "This is Mr. Langton, sir," said Frederic. Stephen came forward. "Ah, Mr. Langton," said the stranger, "you have forgotten me, no doubt. You were a boy when we met. My name is Branscombe-Raphael Branscombe. I heard you were in town from our friend Drax, and I thought you might be puzzled sometimes how to spend your evenings, so I thought I'd ask you to look in upon us when you want amusement. Claudia and I are at No. Clarges-street. Claudia told me to say she would always be glad to see you." Which was quite true. When a note from Mr. Drax informed Raphael, among other things, that Stephen was in town, he at once said, "I shall look up that boy, Claudia !" What for?" asked the Panther, well aware that her brother seldom did anything without a reason. "Well, apart from the fact that he would be an exceedingly good match for a certain young lady whom it is my duty to get married (Claudia winced), there is never any harm in the acquaintance of verdant boys with money.' "Don't victimize him, Raphael," pleaded the Panther. "You have still a tendresse for him, have you? Well, why should all old Page's money go out of the family Send him a message, child." "You may tell him I shall always be glad to see him." Very well. Don't be surprised if I bring him home to dinner." they returned to the Toy and refreshed themselves, Stephen all the while wondering at his companion's cool and skilful style of doing everything. Returning, Raphael drove northward through Weston, getting into the Uxbridge Road somewhere near Hanwell, and making his way through Ealing and Acton to homewards. It was a long and pleasant drive; there was life on the great roads in those days before steam; and it was past five o'clock when Raphael pulled up in Clarges-street. "We dine at six," he said to Stephen. "Come in. There will be no Raphael drove his mail-phaeton one but my sister, who'll forgive your eastward specially to call on dress. Come to my dressingroom Stephen. And, after the speech and wash your hands."· already narrated, he sat down, and called for a pint of claret, and the three entered into desultory converse. Raphael perceived that the Rhymer, whoever he might be, belonged to a higher order of mind than he commonly encountered: while the Rhymer studied Raphael with much interest, as a variety of the human animal entirely new to him. I wish he had had to describe him rather than I. "Let me give you a drive, Mr. Langton," said Raphael. "London is famous as possessing the most beautiful suburbs of any city in the world. I've a pair of horses outside that want exercise, and I've nothing in the world to do this morning, so you'll be doing me a service by accepting." Stephen accepted. Raphael took him through Brompton and Fulham, across Putney Bridge, that villanous old structure, up the hill to the heath, and then away to the right through Richmond Park, across Richmond Bridge, and along the banks of the Thames, through Twickenham and Teddington and Hampton Wick to Hampton Court. He put his horses up at the Toy, and showed Stephen the Palace, and then they lounged into the Tennis Court. "Do you play?" said Raphael. "No. "Ah, that's unlucky: 'twould have given you an appetite for a bit of luncheon. Here, marker, come and play." Having beaten the marker with infinite ease-for, as I have saidRaphael was master of all games, he proposed that they should lunch. So Stephen presently found himself in the drawingroom alone, his companion having excused himself to look after the wine. "I'm always my own butler," he said, in his airy fashion. So Stephen lay back in a soft chair of ruddy velvet, and looked at the hot caverns of fire amid the coals in the grate, and dreamt. His heart was palpitating with a dread of Claudia, whose last words had told him that she hated him—and with a longing to subjugate and tame her, a wild and beautiful and queenly creature, with all the subtlety of womanhood, and all the strength of manhood. His quick brain went off in its usual way, combining, plotting, imagining scenes, and, with the vanity of inexperience, fancying the Victory won. He was a new Alnaschar. As he mentally revelled in a fine dramatic situation, in which the Panther was sobbing at his feet, the silence was disturbed by a rustle of silk, and a voice which he had never forgotten-a voice that he had heard imperious and imperial, that he had heard broken and beseeching, that he had heard whispering passionately in his ear the strong temptation of an offered love-said calmly, "How do you do, Mr. Langton ?" And they were seated opposite each other and talked. And he looked in vain into those great black eyes for either the soft light of love or the angry glare of rage. And he thought to himself, "Ah, me, what do I here? This woman is wise. I am a child, I am a fool, I am lost." Yes, Stephen Langton was wise enough to think thus. Only a brute could be unkind to her," said Stephen. What, are you in love with her still? You were very fortunate to lose her. Your own character-excuse my frankness--has not yet much stability, and if you had married her it would have been terrible for both. You would have been like Well, comparisons are odious," she said, laughing. "But I think it was well for you." "Possibly," said Stephen. "One is not always perfectly satisfied with what everybody else professes to think the best thing that could happen. I had a certain faith and loyalty which Mrs. Morfill's conduct has shattered. I have now to recommence the world on a new principle." "Don't you think," asked Claudia, "that you may be hasty in condemning the whole of our sex because one little girl has been unfaithful?" "Ah, I wish I could tell. Nothing except experience will enable me to correct an error of that kind. Can you wonder that I am in a state of utter uncertainty?" "I don't wonder, but I think you would be wise not to come to hasty conclusions. However, it is an unimportant matter to everyone but yourself." Raphael Branscombe presently joined them, and dinner was announced. A good dinner, we may be sure, at an establishment of which Raphael was the head. From the oysters and anchovy salad to the icepudding from the Montrachet to the Chateau Yquem-everything was perfect. Stephen, whose capacity for enjoyment was enviably complete, dined like an Emperor. By-and-by the Panther retired, and Raphael and Stephen were left alone. Their conversation was curious. Neither understood the other. Raphael regarded Stephen as a mere greenhorn, a foolish, inexperienced boy, who could be enticed into any kind of extravagance or absurdity, whereas Stephen had in him just so much of the poetic faculty as enabled him to detect what was false and forged, to shrink from what was ridiculous. Stephen thought Raphael a marvellous specimen of the human race, for beauty, for skill, for general cleverness-nor ever suspected in him that astucity which lay at the base of his other qualities. The game, therefore, which these two were playing, unconsciously, so far as one of these was concerned, was singular. Each imagined he knew the others cards and didn't. 66 Do you intend to remain long in London ?" asked Raphael, in the course of conversation. "I really have no decided intention," said Stephen. "It seems to me that for a man without any definite object in life, London is about the best place to live." 66 66 Well, I don't see why you should have no object in life," returned Raphael; but that, of course, is your affair, only if you think of remaining in town, you should belong to a club, and I'll put your name down at the Chandos, if you like." "Ishall be very glad," said Stephen. "And what are you going to do this evening?" "This evening!" replied Stephen, in some amazement, looking at his watch. 'Why, it is ten o'clock now. I thought of going back to the Chapter Coffee-house in about an hour." "Just the time to begin the evening," said Raphael. "However, nobody can wonder at your inexperience, seeing that you are fresh from an old-world place like Idlechester But if you don't mind making a night of it, you and I will turn out presently, after a cup of tea." "I am at your service," said Stephen. "And if you mean to remain in town, don't stay at that place in St. Paul's Churchyard. Let me find you rooms somewhere in this part of London." Stephen assented, Raphael rang the bell, and sent for his valet. When Louis arrived, his master said— "Find Mr. Langton rooms some |