"Sir, the opposition are taking advantage of the thinness of the House to call for a division, Mr. —— is put up to speak for time, but they won't hear him."
Egerton turned hastily to Lord L'Estrange, "You see you must excuse me now. To-morrow I must go to Windsor for two days; but we shall meet on my return."
"It does not matter,"' answered Harley; "I stand out of the pale of your advice, O practical man of sense. And if," added Harley with affectionate and mournful sweetness—"If I worry you with complaints which you cannot understand, it is only because of old school-boy habits. I can have no trouble that I do not confide in you."
Egerton's hand trembled as it pressed his friend's; and, without a word, he hurried away abruptly. Harley remained motionless for some seconds, in deep and quiet reverie; then he called to his dog, and turned back towards Westminster.
He passed the nook in which had sat the still figure of Despondency. But the figure had now risen, and was leaning against the balustrade. The dog who had preceded his master paused by the solitary form, and sniffed it suspiciously.
"Nero, sir, come here," said Harley.
"Nero," that was the name by which Helen had said that her father's friend had called his dog. And the sound startled Leonard as he leant, sick at heart, against the stone, he lifted his head and looked wistfully, eagerly, into Harley's face. Those eyes, bright, clear, yet so strangely deep and absent, which Helen had described, met his own, and chained them. For L'Estrange halted also; the boy's countenance was not unfamiliar to him. He returned the inquiring look fixed on his own, and recognized the student by the book-stall.
"The dog is quite harmless, sir," said L'Estrange, with a smile.
"And you called him Nero?" said Leonard, still gazing on the stranger.
Harley mistook the drift of the question.