"How would you like to have--but it is too foolish."

"Go on: finish your sentence."

"No, you will laugh."

"Perhaps I shall: I hope so," Mowbray said, sadly smiling.

There was so much sadness in his tones, spite of the smile, that Hoffland's eyes filled with tears.

"What I was about to say was very ridiculous," the boy said, with a slight tremor in his voice; "but you know almost every thing I say is ridiculous."

"No, indeed, Charles; you are a singular mixture of excellent sense and fanciful humor."

"Well, then, attribute my question to humor."

"Willingly."

"I was about to ask you--as you were kind enough to say that I could make you laugh if any one could--I was about to ask, how would you like to have a wife like me?"

And Hoffland burst out laughing. Ernest sighed.

"I think I should like it very well--to reply simply to your question."

"Indeed!"

"Yes."

"What do you admire so much in me?"

"I love more than I admire, Charles."

"Do you?" And the boy's head drooped.

"Yes," said Mowbray; "you possess a childlike ingenuousness and simplicity which is exceedingly refreshing to me after intense study.

I would call your conversation at times prattle, but for the fear of offending you."

"Oh, you will not."

"Prattle is very engaging, you know," said Mowbray, "and I often feel as if my weary head would be at rest upon your friendly shoulder."

"Why don't you rest it there then?"

Mowbray smiled.

"You may answer that question better than myself," he said: "for some strange reason, you always avoid me when I approach you."

"Avoid you!"

"Yes, Charles."

"Why, my dear follow," said Hoffland, with a free-and-easy air, "come as near as you choose; here, let us lock arms! Does that look like avoiding you?"

Mowbray smiled.

"It is very different here in the street," he said; "but let us dismiss this idle subject. It is an odd way of throwing away time to debate whether you would make a good wife."

"I don't think it is," said Hoffland, and he laughed. "If I would make a good wife, I would make a good husband; and as I have natural doubts upon the latter point, I wish to have them solved. But I weary you--let us part. _Good-bye_," added Hoffland, with a strange expression of face and tone of voice; "here is my lodging, and you go on to the college."

"No, I think I will go up and sit down a moment."

Hoffland stood still.

"It is strange, but true, that I have never paid you visit," continued Mowbray, "and now I will go and see your quarters."

"Really, my dear Ernest--the fact is--I a.s.sure you on my honor--there is nothing to attract----"

Mowbray smiled.

"Never mind," he said, "I will go up, if from nothing else, from simple curiosity."

The singular young man looked exceedingly vexed at this, and did not move.

Mowbray was about to pa.s.s with a smile up the steps leading to the door, when an acquaintance came by and stopped a moment to speak to him. Mowbray seemed interested in what he said, and half turned from Hoffland.

No sooner had he done so than the boy placed one cautious foot upon the stone step, looked quickly around, saw that he was un.o.bserved; and entering the house with a bound, ran lightly up the steps, opened the door of his apartment, entered it, closed the door, and disappeared.

The sound of the bolt in moving proved that he had locked himself in.

In two minutes Mowbray turned round to speak to his companion: he was no where to be seen. The friend with whom he had been conversing had observed nothing, and suggested that Mr. Hoffland must have gone on.

No; he had, however, gone to his room probably. And ascending the stairs, Mowbray knocked at the door. No voice replied.

"Strange boy!" he murmured; "he cannot be here, however--and yet that singular objection he seemed to have to my visiting him--singular!"

And Mowbray, finding himself no nearer a conclusion than at first, descended, and slowly pa.s.sed on toward the college.

No sooner had he disappeared within its walls than a slight noise at Hoffland's window proved that he had been watching Mowbray. All then became silent. In an hour, however, the door was cautiously opened, and the boy issued forth. He carefully closed the door, re-locked it, put the key in his pocket, descended, and commenced walking rapidly toward the southern portion of the town, depositing as he went by a letter in the post.

He pa.s.sed through the suburbs, continued his way over the open road leading toward Jamestown, and in half an hour arrived at a little roadside ordinary--one of those houses of private entertainment which are wholly different from the great public taverns.

Fifty paces beyond this ordinary a chariot with four horses was waiting in a glade of the forest, and on catching sight of it Hoffland hastened his steps, and almost ran.

He reached the chariot breathless from his long walk and the rapidity with which he had pa.s.sed over the distance between the ordinary and the vehicle; threw open the door before the coachman knew he was near; entered, said in a low voice, "Home!" and sank back exhausted.

As though only waiting for this single word, the chariot began to move, and the horses, drawing the heavy vehicle, disappeared at a gallop.

CHAPTER XXV.