"Yes, I have heard of him: Mr Murray, the great Oxford scholar you have all been talking of. I'm a little blind, and a little deaf, and you must forgive an old man. There is a youth at one of your colleges I would like to ask you about. By the way, he's of your own name; I forget what his college is. Abel Murray, a young man from this parish. God bless us!" cried the vicar, with a sudden start. "What is the matter, sir?" cried Mary; "you are over-tired; you are unwell." "No, no, nothing of the kind. It was just a sudden fancy. Perhaps you may know the young man I am asking about, Mr Murray? It's your own name." There was a distinct pause in Abel's mind. The others were not conscious of it; but to him it seemed as distinct a pause as that which falls upon a criminal when he has to say Guilty or Not guilty. A choice seemed to be thrust upon him--truth or falsehood, good or evil. And yet the blood had begun to hurry so wildly through his veins, the mad heart-piston to thump so loudly, that nothing but a confusion and giddy darkness was round him, through which his voice came not like his own voice, as if some one else spoke. "There are many of the name," he said; "it is not an unusual one. You don't remember his college? Had you done so all would have been easy enough." "No, I don't remember the college," said the vicar, gravely. He sat staring at the young man with his dim eyes, studying him in every feature. "He was a handsome lad, dark and handsome like the rest of his family. I saw his mother selling her butter the last Saturday I was about before my illness, and I told her how satisfied we were. He is a credit to the parish. We have never had a prodigy before that I'm aware of. And son of a poor woman, that sells her butter (and very good butter it is) in the market at Waterside, it's a great credit to him to have done so well. Strange, now, when I think of it, in this light, there's a great resemblance----" Mechanically Abel turned his head to the light, but there was nothing but giddy darkness in his own eyes. The room swam round him, a pale mist full of inquisitive faces. "By Jove! that will be the brother of the pretty girl in the village--the Lily of Waterside, as they call her. I had forgotten her brother. I wonder what was his college?" said Charley, carelessly. He spoke lightly, meaning little as he was in the habit of speaking--when all at once his eyes caught his friend's agitated colourless face. In a moment Charley stopped short; his countenance changed, his under lip dropped, he stared at Murray with a face of blank dismay. They were all looking at him now, every eye fixed upon him--the vicar peering with contracted eyelids, for he was short-sighted. Abel's lips were so dry that he could scarcely speak. The harsh laugh, which he could not restrain when he was excited, broke from him in spite of himself--"The college! yes, that seems the essential point," he said.