“His heart is of gold,” said the parson.
“Ah,” said Randal, inquisitively, “you told me you had come in contact with him once, respecting, I think, some of your old parishioners at Lansmere?”
The parson nodded, and there was a moment’s silence.
“Do you remember your battle by the stocks, Mr. Leslie?” said Mr. Dale, with a good-humoured laugh.
“Indeed, yes. By the way, now you speak of it, I met my old opponent in London the first year I went up to it.”
“You did! where?”
“At a literary scamp’s,—a cleverish man called Burley.”
“Burley! I have seen some burlesque verses in Greek by a Mr. Burley.”
“No doubt the same person. He has disappeared,—gone to the dogs, I dare say. Burlesque Greek is not a knowledge very much in power at present.”
“Well, but Leonard Fairfield—you have seen him since?”