and gallantry about him that arrested one's
attention at first sight. I think I should have taken him for a soldier,
had I not already gathered it from the last words of their conversation.

"Who is your friend?" I heard the new-comer whisper.

To which the other replied:--"Haven't the ghost of an idea."

Presently he took out his pocket-book, and handing me a card, said:--

"We are under the mutual disadvantage of all chance acquaintances. My
name is Dalrymple--Oscar Dalrymple, late of the Enniskillen Dragoons. My
friend here is unknown to fame as Mr. Frank Sullivan; a young gentleman
who has the good fortune to be younger partner in a firm of merchant
princes, and the bad taste to dislike his occupation."

How I blushed as I took Captain Dalrymple's card, and stammered out my
own name in return! I had never possessed a card in my life, nor needed
one, till this moment. I rather think that Captain Dalrymple guessed
these facts, for he shook hands with me at once, and put an end to my
embarrassment by proposing that we should take a boat, and pull a mile
or two up the river. The thing was no sooner said than done. There were
plenty of boats below the iron bridge; so we chose one of the cleanest,
and jumped into it without any kind of reference to the owner, whoever
he might be.

"_Batelier, Messieurs? Batelier_?" cried a dozen men at once, rushing
down to the water's edge.

But Dalrymple had already thrown off his coat, and seized the oars.

"_Batelier_, indeed!" laughed he, as with two or three powerful strokes
he carried us right into the middle, of the stream. "Trust an Oxford man
for employing any arms but his own, when a pair of sculls are in
question!"

* * * * *

CHAPTER VIII.

THE ISLAND IN THE RIVER.

It was just eight o'clock when we started, with the twilight coming on.
Our course lay up the river, with a strong current setting against us;
so we made but little way, and enjoyed the tranquil beauty of the
evening. The sky was pale and clear, somewhat greenish overhead and
deepening along the line of the horizon into amber and rose. Behind us
lay the town with every brown spire articulated against the sky and
every vane glittering in the last glow that streamed up from the west.
To our left rose a line of steep chalk cliffs, and before us lay the
river, winding away through meadow lands fringed with willows and
poplars, and interspersed with green islands wooded to