faster. I am not sure that our dignity did not condescend to run, as we
heard steps coming down from No. 5, at a pace that evidently portended a
chase, and remembered for the first time the remarkable costume, which,
to common observers, would indicate that there was a visitor of an
unusual character enjoying the moonlight in the quadrangle. When we
reached the "thoroughfare," the passage from the inner to the outer
quadrangle, we fairly bolted; and as the steps came pretty fast after
us, and Leicester's rooms were the nearest, we both made good our
retreat thither, and sported oak.

The porter's lodge was in the next number; and hearing a knocking in
that quarter, Leicester gently opened the window, and we could catch the
following dialogue:--

"Solomon! open this door directly--it is I--the dean."

"Good, dear sir!" said Solomon, apparently asleep, and fumbling for the
keys of the college gates--"let you out? Oh yes! sir, directly."

"Listen to me, Solomon: I am not going out. Did you let any one out just
now--just before I called you?"

"No, sir, nobody whatsomdever."

"Solomon! I ask you, did you not, just now, let a _woman_ out?"

"Lawk! no, sir, Lord forbid!" said Solomon, now thoroughly wakened.

"Now, Solomon, bring your light, and come with me, this must be enquired
into. I saw a woman run this way, and, if she is not gone through the
gate, she is gone into this next number. Whose rooms are in No. 13?"

"There's Mr Dyson's, sir, on the ground floor."

Mr Dyson was the very fellow who had called at Challoner's rooms.

"Hah! well, I'll call Mr Dyson up. Whose besides?"

"There's Mr Leicester, sir, above his'n."

"Very well, Solomon; call up Mr Dyson, and say I wish to speak with him
particularly."

And so saying, the dean proceeded up stairs.

The moment Leicester heard his name mentioned, he began to anticipate a
domiciliary visit. The thing was so ridiculous that we hardly knew what
to do.

"Shall I get into bed, Hawthorne? I don't want to be caught in this
figure?"

"Why, I don't know that you will be safe there, in the present state of
the dean's suspicions. No; tuck up those confounded petticoats, clap on
your pea-jacket, twist those love-locks up under your cap, light this
cigar, and sit in your easy-chair. The dean must be 'cuter than usual,
if he finds you out as the lady he is in search of."

Leicester had hardly time to take this advice, the best I could hit upon
at the moment, wh