ring conjecture, which soon, however,
subsided into indifference with all save Florian. He had lost his only,
and, as he firmly believed, his sincerely attached friend and companion;
and as this friendship had deprived him of the sympathy of every other
schoolfellow, he had now no alternative but to retire within himself,
and lean upon his own thoughts and resources. For some time he brooded
incessantly upon the strange disappearance of his friend. He recollected
that for several days preceding the event, the spirits of Bartholdy were
so obviously depressed as to create inquiries, to which his replies were
vague and unsatisfactory. Notwithstanding the guarded silence of the
reverend fathers, it was evident to Florian that his friend had not
absconded from the seminary, as not only his clothes and books, but even
his bed, had disappeared with him. One article only remained, which had
been left in the custody of Florian. It was a large clasp-knife, of
excellent workmanship and finish. The handle was of the purest ivory,
wrought in curious devices, and the long blade, which terminated in a
sharp point, was secured from closing by a powerful spring, thus serving
the double purpose of a knife and dagger. The owner of this remarkable
weapon had told Florian that it was precious to him, as the legacy of a
near relative, and requested him to take charge of it, from an
apprehension that, if discovered in his own possession, it would either
be stolen by the boys, or taken from him by the Jesuit fathers. "And
now," sighed Florian, as he gazed with painful recollections on the
knife, "it is too probably lost to him for ever. But if he is still in
being, I may yet see and restore to him his favourite knife; and that I
may be always ready to restore it, as well as in remembrance of the
owner, I will henceforth always carry it about me."

During the remainder of Florian's stay at the seminary, his thoughts
continually reverted to his lost friend, who had, he feared, from a
mysterious expression of the presiding Jesuit, met with some terrible
calamity. During confession, he had once expressed his grief for the
sudden deprivation of his friend, when, to his great surprise, the
venerable priest, placing his hand solemnly upon the fair and innocent
brow of Florian, exclaimed with fervent emphasis, "Thank God, my son,
that it has so happened!"

Florian often pondered upon these remarkable words, which, until some
years after his departure