oubt if even Oxford could make a gentleman of this
fellow. His whole expression is a protest against such a supposition.
But now he's coming to all right, and I'm glad of it, for I have an
engagement at the club, and don't want to spend much more time with
him."

Poor Peveril, whose begrimed and blood-streaked face was not
calculated to prepossess one in his favor, began just then to have a
realizing sense that he was still alive, and the doctor, bending over
him, said:

"There now, my man, you are doing nicely, and by taking care of
yourself you will be about again in a day or two. You had a close
call, though, and it's a warning to behave yourself in the future; for
I can assure you that one given to fighting or disobedience of orders
is not allowed to linger in these parts. I must leave you now, but
will call again this evening to see how you are getting along. What
is your address?"

"He lives along of us, sir," answered Tom Trefethen, who had just
entered the room; "and if you think it's safe to move him, we'll take
him right home."

"Certainly you can move him; in fact, he could walk if there was no
other way; but it will be as well to take him in a carriage. Let me
see, your name is Trefethen, is it not?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well; put your boarder to bed as soon as you get him home, keep
him quiet, give him only cooling drinks, and I'll call round after a
while. Now I must hurry along."

The stranger, who walked away with the self-important young doctor,
was none other than Peveril's Oxford classmate--"Dig" Owen--who,
having obtained a position in the Eastern office of the White Pine
Mining Company, had been advised to visit the mine and learn something
of its practical working before assuming his new duties. He had just
arrived when the rumor of an accident caused him to hurry to the
shaft-mouth. There he was thunderstruck at recognizing in one of the
two men brought up from the depths his recent college-mate and rival.
In the excitement of the moment he had very nearly betrayed the fact
of their acquaintance, but managed to restrain himself, and was
afterwards careful to keep out of Peveril's sight, foreseeing a great
advantage to himself by so doing.

That same evening he sat in the comfortable writing-room of the
club-house--at which poor Peveril had gazed with envious eyes--and
composed a long epistle to Rose Bonnifay, in which he mentioned that
he had just run across their mutual friend, Dick Pe