en the dean knocked at the door.

"Who are you? Come in," said we both in a breath.

"I beg your pardon, Mr Leicester," said the dean in his most official
tone; "nothing but actually imperative duty occasions my intrusion at
this unseasonable hour, but a most extraordinary circumstance must be my
excuse. I say, gentlemen--I saw with my own eyes," he continued, looking
blacker as he caught sight of me, and remembering, no doubt, the little
episode of the stays--"I saw a female figure pass in this direction but
a few minutes ago. No such person has passed the gate, for I have made
enquiry; certainly I have no reason to suppose any such person is
concealed here, but I am bound to ask you, sir, on your honour as a
gentleman--for I have no wish to make a search--is there any such person
concealed in your apartments?"

"On my honour, sir, no one is, or has been lately here, but myself and
Mr Hawthorne."

Here Dyson came into the room, looking considerably mystified.

"What's the matter, Mr Dean?" said he, nodding good-humouredly to us.

"A most unpleasant occurrence, my dear sir; I have seen a woman in this
direction not five minutes back. Unfortunately, I cannot be mistaken.
She either passed into the porter's lodge or into this staircase."

"She is not in my rooms, I assure you," said he, laughing; "I should
think you made a mistake: it must have been some man in a white
mackintosh."

I smiled, and Leicester laughed outright.

"I am not mistaken, sir," said the dean warmly. "I shall take your word,
Mr Leicester; but allow me to tell you, that your conduct in lolling in
that chair as if in perfect contempt, and neither rising, nor removing
your cap, when Mr Dyson and myself are in your rooms, is neither
consistent with the respect due from an under-graduate, or the behaviour
I should expect from a gentleman."

Poor Leicester coloured, and unwittingly removed his cap. The chestnut
curls, some natural and some artificial, which had been so studiously
arranged for Miss Hardcastle's head-dress, fell in dishevelled
luxuriance round his face, and as he half rose from his previous
position in the chair, a pink silk dress began to descend from under the
pea-jacket. Concealment was at an end; the dean looked bewildered at
first, and then savage; but a hearty laugh from Dyson settled the
business.

"What, Leicester! you're the lady the dean has been hunting about
college! Upon my word, this is the most absurd piece of
ma