xbridge Crew still sat in the marble supper-room, amid the _debris_ of
the feast that the Duke's Seneschal had laid out for them. The floor was
paved with Magnums and Maximums of the best Heidanseekerer champagne, most
of them as empty as the foolish head of the Duchess of AVADRYNKE, which was
at that moment reposing upon the brawny chest of Lord PODOPHLIN, the
celebrated No. 5 of the Oxbridge Crew. On a raised dais at the end of the
room the ladies of the Tarara _corps de ballet_ were performing the final
steps of the Sinuous Shadow-dance, specially dedicated to the Oxbridge Crew
by the _chef d'orchestre_ of Tarara's Halls.

"May I be jiggered," observed the Oxbridge President, Sir WELFORARD
LONGSTROKE, as he selected his fourth regalia from the Duke's pearl-
encrusted box, and lit it with all the _abandon_ of a Society darling, "may
I be jiggered if this is not ripping! What say you?" he continued,
addressing young PULYER WRIGHT, the Coxswain, and tossing him playfully
four times to the raftered ceiling--"shall we not beat the dastard foe from
Camford to-morrow?" A roar of applause sprang from the smoking mouths of
his seven companions.

But at this moment the Duchess of AVADRYNKE and Lord PODOPHLIN rose
unobserved and quitted the room. In another minute the sound of hurrying
wheels, gradually growing fainter in the distance, was heard by no one in
the avenue. And the dance went on, and revelry rose to its maddest pitch.
But no one, who, as has been recorded above, had heard the sound of the
wheels, gave a thought to the Duke of AVADRYNKE, as he sat tearing his hair
in the violet bedroom, having learnt from the faithful Seneschal the
terrible news of the Duchess's elopement with the heir to the house of
PODOPHLIN.

CHAPTER III.

THE morn of the race dawned clear and sparkling. Far as the eye could
reach, the banks of the river were rich with Millions, and firm enough to
bear any run upon them however heavy. But Sir WELFORARD LONGSTROKE was ill
at ease. His No. 5 had fled leaving no trace, and he had no one to fill the
vacancy. He looked the very model of an aquatic hero. His broad chest was
loosely clad in a pair of blue satin shorts, and his fair hair fell in
waving masses over his muscular back. His thoughts were bitter. The Camford
crew had started on the race some ten minutes ago, and the Oxbridge craft
still waited idly in the docks for want of a No. 5.

"Surely," Sir WELFORARD thought to himself, "PODOPHLIN