On that morning, however, Ormiston met me with evident embarrassment, if not with coolness. He started when he first saw me, and, had there been a chance of doing so with decency, looked as if he would have pretended not to recognise me. But we were too near for that, and our eyes met at once. I was really very glad to see him, and not at all inclined to be content with the short "How d'ye do?" so unlike his usual cordial greetings, with which he was endeavouring to hurry on; and there was a little curiosity afloat among my other feelings. So I fairly stopped him with a few of the usual inquiries, as to how long he had been in town, &c., and then plunged at once into the affair of the ball at which we had last met. He interrupted me at once. "By the way," said he, "have you heard of poor Russell's business?" I actually shuddered, for I scarcely knew what was to follow. As composedly as I could, I simply said, "No." "His father is ruined, they say--absolutely ruined. I suppose _that_ is no secret by this time, at all events. He cannot possibly pay even a shilling in the pound." "I'm very sorry indeed to hear it," was all I could say. "But do you know, Hawthorne," continued Ormiston, taking my arm with something like his old manner, and no longer showing any anxiety to cut short our interview, "I am afraid this is not the worst of it. There is a report in the city this morning, I was told, that Mr Russell's character is implicated by some rather unbusinesslike transactions. I believe you are a friend of poor Russell's, and for that reason I mention it to you in confidence. He may not be aware of it; but the rumour is, that his father _dare_ not show himself again here: that he has left England I know to be a fact." "And his daughter? Miss Russell?" I asked involuntarily--"his children, I mean--where are they?" I thought Ormiston's colour heightened; but he was not a man to show much visible emotion. "Charles Russell and his sister are still in London," he replied; "I have just seen them. They know their father has left for the Continent; I hope they do _not_ know all the reasons. I am very sincerely sorry for young Russell; it will be a heavy blow to him, and I fear he will find his circumstances bitterly changed. Of course he will have to leave Oxford." "I suppose so," said I; "no one can feel more for him than I do. It was well, perhaps, that this did not happen in term time."