“That will not be necessary, depend upon it,” returned I; “he will only be too glad to recover her.”
“So I think,” replied Oaklands.
“What course shall you take with regard to Wilford?” inquired I.
“I shall never mention the affair to any one, if he does not,” answered Oaklands; “neither shall I take any step whatever in the matter. I am perfectly satisfied, with the position in which I stand at present, and if he should not enjoy an equal share of contentment, it is for him to declare it—the next move must be his, and it will be time enough for me to decide how to act when we see what it may be. I shall now tell Lizzie Maurice of my plan for her, and inform her that as long as I hear she is living quietly at home, and leading a respectable life, my lips will be sealed with regard to the occurrences of to-day.” So saying, he put his horse into a canter, and riding up to the side of the cart, conversed with the girl in a low tone of voice for several minutes; then, drawing out his purse, handed some money to the driver, and rejoined me. “She is extremely grateful to me for my promise of silence,” he commenced; “seems very penitent for her fault, and declares that this is a lesson she shall never forget. She agrees to my plan of walking, and tells me there is a side-door to the house, by which she can enter unobserved. She promises to confess everything to her father, and hopes to obtain his forgiveness; and appears altogether in 'a very proper frame of mind,' as the good books say.”
“Long may she remain so,” returned I; “and now I am happy to say there are some of the towers of Cambridge visible, for, like you, I am becoming fearfully hungry.”
“And for the first time during the last twenty-four hours I am actually beginning to feel as tired as a dog,” rejoined Harry, shrugging his shoulders with an air of intense satisfaction.
CHAPTER XXV — THE CHALLENGE
“Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting
Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.
I will withdraw; but this intrusion shall,
Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall.”
“More matter for a May morning.”
“Here's the challenge, read it.”
“If this letter move him not, his legs cannot.”
“Ominous! he comes to kill my heart.”
—Shakspeare.
OLD MAURICE, the pastry-cook, had welcomed his daughter gladly, as one returned from the grave, and had learned from her own lips, with mingled tears of joy and gratitude, how, thanks to noble Harry Oaklands, she had escaped unscathed from the perils and temptations to which she had been exposed; many days had elapsed, the Long Vacation had commenced, and the ancient town of Cambridge, no longer animated by the countless throngs of gownsmen, frowned in its unaccustomed solitude, like some City of the Dead, and still no hostile message came from Wilford. Various reports were circulated concerning the reappearance of Lizzie Maurice; but none of them bore the faintest resemblance to the truth, and to no one had the possibility of Oaklands' interference in the matter occurred, save, as it afterwards appeared, to Charles Archer.