Colin acted upon this permission to the full extent of all his youthful prowess and prejudices, and went on learning his Latin and Greek, and discussing all manner of questions in heaven and earth, with the fervour of a boy and a Scotsman. They kept together, this strange pair, for the greater part of the short winter days, taking long walks, when they left the University, through the noisy dirty streets, upon which Lauderdale moralized; and sometimes through the duller squares and crescents of respectability which formed the frame of the picture. Sometimes their peregrinations concluded in Colin’s little room, where they renewed their arguments over the oatcakes and cheese which came in periodical hampers from Ramore; and sometimes Lauderdale gave his friend a cheap and homely dinner at the tavern where they had first broken bread together. But not even Colin, much less any of his less familiar acquaintances, knew where the tall Mentor lived, or how he managed to maintain himself at college. He said he had his lodging provided for him, when any inquiry was made, and added, with an odd humourous look, that his was an honourable occupation; but Lauderdale afforded no further clue to his own means or dwelling-place. He smiled, but he was secret and gave no sign. As for his studies, he made but such moderate progress in them as was natural to his age and his character. No particular spur of ambition seemed to stimulate the man whose habits were formed by this time, and who found enjoyment enough, it appeared, in universal speculation. When he failed, his reflections as to the effect of failure upon the mind of man, and the secondary importance after all of mere material success, “which always turns out more disappointing to a reflective spirit than an actual break-down,” the philosopher would say, “being aye another evidence how far reality falls short of the idea,” became more piquant than usual; and when he succeeded, the same sentiments moderated his satisfaction. “Oh ay, I’ve got the prize,” he said, holding it on a level with Colin’s head, and regarding its resplendent binding with a smile; “which is to say, I’ve found out that it’s only a book with the college arms stamped upon it, and no a palpable satisfaction to the soul as I might have imagined it to be, had it been yours, boy, instead of mine.” But with all this composure of feeling as respected his own success, Lauderdale was as eager as a boy about the progress of his pupil. When the prize lay in Colin’s way, his friend spared no pains to stimulate and encourage and help him on; and as the years passed, and the personal pride of the elder became involved in the success of the younger, Lauderdale’s anxieties awoke a certain impatience in the bosom of his _protégé_. Colin was ambitious enough in his own person, but he turned naturally with sensitive boyish pride against the arguments and inducements which had so little influence upon the speaker himself.