the steps, opened the
door of his apartment, entered it, closed the door, and disappeared.
The sound of the bolt in moving proved that he had locked himself in.

In two minutes Mowbray turned round to speak to his companion: he was
no where to be seen. The friend with whom he had been conversing had
observed nothing, and suggested that Mr. Hoffland must have gone on.

No; he had, however, gone to his room probably. And ascending the
stairs, Mowbray knocked at the door. No voice replied.

"Strange boy!" he murmured; "he cannot be here, however--and yet that
singular objection he seemed to have to my visiting him--singular!"

And Mowbray, finding himself no nearer a conclusion than at first,
descended, and slowly passed on toward the college.

No sooner had he disappeared within its walls than a slight noise at
Hoffland's window proved that he had been watching Mowbray. All then
became silent. In an hour, however, the door was cautiously opened,
and the boy issued forth. He carefully closed the door, re-locked it,
put the key in his pocket, descended, and commenced walking rapidly
toward the southern portion of the town, depositing as he went by a
letter in the post.

He passed through the suburbs, continued his way over the open road
leading toward Jamestown, and in half an hour arrived at a little
roadside ordinary--one of those houses of private entertainment which
are wholly different from the great public taverns.

Fifty paces beyond this ordinary a chariot with four horses was
waiting in a glade of the forest, and on catching sight of it Hoffland
hastened his steps, and almost ran.

He reached the chariot breathless from his long walk and the rapidity
with which he had passed over the distance between the ordinary and
the vehicle; threw open the door before the coachman knew he was near;
entered, said in a low voice, "Home!" and sank back exhausted.

As though only waiting for this single word, the chariot began to
move, and the horses, drawing the heavy vehicle, disappeared at a
gallop.

CHAPTER XXV.

SIR ASINUS GOES TO THE BALL.

Upon the most moderate calculation, Sir Asinus must have tied his lace
cravat a dozen times before he finally coaxed his smoothly shaven chin
to rest in quiet grace upon its white folds. Having accomplished this
important matter, and donned his coat of Mecklenburg silk, the knight
took a last survey of himself in the mirror, carefully reconnoitred
the street below f