THE COMMEMORATION WEEK.
Brightly shone the sun over the towers and pinnacles of the glorious old city as the train sped along between Didcot and Oxford. Down the High Street towards the railway station two gentlemen were walking slowly, one of them wearing the Master of Arts gown and the trencher cap; the other, though in plain clothes, had the bearing and gait of a soldier.
Except the bright dark eyes and the clear olive skin there is very little in the tall manly figure and whiskered face to recall the Charley Herbert whom Edward Armstrong saved from an untimely death. His companion, who scarcely reaches to his shoulder, has no such personal attractions as his friend, but the keen eye, broad forehead, and intellectual, studious face, command at once respect and attention.
"At what time is the train due?" asked Charles Herbert, taking out his watch.
"12.30," was the reply.
"Oh, then we have plenty of time to drop in at Queen's and asked Maurice about the boatrace. Hollo, old fellow, where are you going?" and the young officer looked at the offered hand of his friend with surprise.
"I ought not to intrude upon your friends on the very moment of their arrival, Herbert, so I'll say good-by now."
"Nonsense! I want you to know them; come, along, Wilton; you are not going to escape me in this way; and here comes Maurice, the very man I want. Who is that tall fellow with him?" he added hastily, in a low tone, as the two undergraduates approached, one of them with a pleased recognition of Charles and his friend.
"I'll introduce you if you like," had been Mr. Wilton's reply, and as the four gentlemen met and exchanged a friendly greeting, Charles found himself returning the bow of the stranger, who was being named to him as "Mr. Henry Halford, of Queen's."
"I think we have met before, Mr. Herbert," said Henry, with a smile, "we were fellow pupils at Dr. Mason's."