AN OLD FACE REAPPEARS.
What the Carnival is to Rome, and the Derby is to London, the Commencement week of its great University is to the little country town of Charlottesville.
It is looked forward to for weeks and months. A few days previous to Commencement week the little town begins to fill. The hotels and boarding-houses are crowded with the relatives and friends of the students and professors, and even with numbers of the country gentry, who though they may have no relative at the University yet take an interest in the proceedings of Commencement week.
Emma Cavendish and her friends were therefore peculiarly fortunate in having had comfortable apartments pre-engaged for them.
It was late on the evening of the Monday beginning the important week that they arrived at Charlottesville, and proceeded at once to the house of the bishop's widow.
They found the house hospitably lighted up, and open.
Their hostess, a dignified gentlewoman, received them with great cordiality, and rather as guests than as lodgers.
She showed the ladies to the two communicating rooms on the first floor that they were to occupy—large, airy, pleasant rooms, with a fresh breeze blowing from front to back. Each room had two neat white-draped single beds in it.
"If you please, Mrs. Wheatfield, which of these was Mrs. Grey's apartment?" inquired Emma Cavendish.
"This back room overlooking the flower-garden. But as the front room was unoccupied she had the use of that also, whenever she wished it," answered the bishop's widow.
"I was very sorry to hear from her by letter that she would not be able to remain here to receive us," said Miss Cavendish.
"Ah, my dear, I was just as sorry to have her go away! A sweet woman she is, Miss Cavendish," answered Mrs. Wheatfield.
"Why did she go? Is her health so very bad, Mrs. Wheatfield?"
"My dear, I think that her malady is more of the mind than of the body. But I believe that she went away only to give up these rooms to you and your friends, because there were no other suitable rooms to be obtained for you in Charlottesville."
"I am very sorry to hear that; for indeed I and my companions would rather have given up our journey than have turned Mary Grey out of her rooms. It was really too great a sacrifice on her part," said Emma Cavendish, regretfully.
"My dear, that angel is always making sacrifices, for that matter. But I do think that this sacrifice did not cost her much. Love made it light. I feel sure she was delighted to be able to give up her quarters to friends who could not in any other way have been accommodated in the town," said the bishop's widow, politely.
"I am sorry, however, not to have met her," murmured Emma Cavendish.
"And now, ladies, here are the apartments. Arrange as to their occupancy and distribution among yourselves as you please," said the hostess, as she nodded pleasantly and left the room.
The ladies had brought but little luggage for their week's visit, and it had already arrived and was placed in their rooms.
They washed, dressed their hair, changed their traveling-suits for evening-dresses and went down into the parlor, where they found Alden Lytton—who had walked over from the University to meet his sister—in conversation with Mr. Lyle.
There was quite a joyous greeting. But Alden had to be introduced to Mrs. Fanning, who had changed so much in the years that had passed since their last meeting that the young man would never have known her again.
But every one remarked that when the lady and the student were introduced to each other their mutual agitation could not be concealed. And every one marveled about its cause.
Alden Lytton found fair Emma Cavendish more beautiful than ever, and he now no longer tried to deny to himself the truth that his heart was devoted to her in the purest, highest, noblest love that ever inspired man.
"Do you know, Mr. Lytton, where Mrs. Grey has gone? She did not tell me in her letter where she intended to go; I believe she had not then quite made up her mind as to her destination," said Miss Cavendish.
"I was not even aware of her departure until I learned it from Mrs. Wheatfield this evening," answered Alden Lytton.
"Then no one knows. But I suppose we shall learn when we hear from her," said Emma, with a smile.
Then Alden produced cards for the Commencement, with tickets inclosed for reserved seats in the best part of the hall, which he had been careful to secure for his party. These he gave into the charge of Mr. Lyle, who was to attend the ladies to the University.
And then, as it was growing late, the two gentlemen arose and took leave.
They left the house together and walked down the street as far as the corner, where Alden Lytton paused and said:
"Our ways separate here, I am sorry to say. I have to walk a mile out to the University. Your hotel is about twenty paces up the next street, on your right. You will be sure to find it."
And Alden lifted his hat and was about to stride rapidly away when Mr. Lyle laid his hand on his arm and said:
"One moment. I did not know our paths parted so soon or I might have spoken as we left the house. The fact is, I have a very large sum of money—ten thousand dollars—sent me to be paid to you as soon as you shall have taken your degree. It is to be employed in the purchase of a law library and in the renting and furnishing of a law office in the best obtainable location. I wish to turn this money over to you as soon as possible."
"It is from my unknown guardian, I presume," said Alden, gravely.
"Yes, it is from your unknown [guardian."]
"Then we will talk of this after the Commencement. I hardly know, Mr. Lyle, whether I ought to accept anything more from this lavish benefactor of ours. I may never be able to repay what we already owe him."
"You need have no hesitation in accepting assistance from this man, as I have often assured you. But, as you say, we will talk of this some other time, when we have more leisure. Good-night!"
And the gentlemen separated: Alden Lytton striding westward toward the University, and Mr. Lyle walking thoughtfully toward his hotel.
His room had been secured and his key was in his pocket, so that he possessed quite an enviable advantage over the crowd of improvident travelers who thronged the office clamoring for quarters, and not half of whom could by any possibility be accommodated.
As it was long after the minister's usual hour for retiring, he walked through the crowded office into the hall and up the stairs to his room—a very small chamber, with one window and a single bed, both window and bed neatly draped with white.
Mr. Lyle sat down in a chair by the one little table, on which stood a bright brass candlestick with a lighted spermaceti candle, and took from his pocket a small Bible, which he opened with the intention of reading his customary chapter before going to bed, when a rap at his door surprised him.
"Come in," he said, supposing that only a country waiter had come with towels or water, or some other convenience.
The door opened and a waiter indeed made his appearance. But he only said:
"A gemman for to see yer, sah!" and ushered in a stranger and closed the door behind him.
Mr. Lyle, much astonished, stared at the visitor, whom he thought he had never seen before.
The stranger was a tall, finely-formed, dark-complexioned and very handsome man, notwithstanding that his raven hair was streaked with silver, his brow lined with thought, and his fine black eyes rather hollow. A full black beard nearly covered the lower part of his face.
"Mr. Lyle," said the visitor, holding out his hand.
"That is my name, sir; but you have the advantage of me," said the minister.
"You do not know me?" inquired the stranger in sad surprise.
"I do not, indeed."
"I am Victor Hartman!"