Vivian interrupted me hastily.

"Thank you a thousand times! But what you say confirms a resolution I
had taken before you came. I shall make it up with my family and return
home."

"Oh, I am so really glad. How wise in you!"

Vivian turned away his head abruptly.

"Your pictures of family life and domestic peace, you see," he said,
"seduced me more than you thought. When do you leave town?"

"Why, I believe, early next week."

"So soon," said Vivian, thoughtfully. "Well, perhaps I may ask you yet
to introduce me to Mr. Trevanion; for who knows?--my family and I may
fall out again. But I will consider. I think I have heard you say that
this Trevanion is a very old friend of your father's or uncle's?"

"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.

"He thinks of returning to his family," said I.

Roland, who had seemed dozing, winced uneasily.

"Who returns to his family?" asked the Captain.

"Why, you must know," said my father, "that Sisty has fished up a friend
of whom h