Tom Hartshorne--no one who ever spoke two words with him could call him anything else but "Tom"--was the only exception to this rule; the others were all men of a class, "classy," without any distinctive individuality. He, however, was of a different stamp. Of middle-height, thick-set, fair-haired, and open face--Saxon all over-- his was the native mould, thorough British metal, that makes our strong and plucky athletes of the Isis and the Cam, who struggle each year for aquatic supremacy, like the strong _Gyas fortisque Cloanthus_ of Virgil's Aenead--that long line of heroes celebrated for every deed of daring, from Richard the "Lion-hearted" down to the last gallant recipient of the Victoria Cross: men of which stamp, thank God, live yet among us! A thorough gentleman, his nature was as open as the day, which you could readily see for yourself by one glance into his truthful face, and clear blue eyes, although perhaps concealed partly by that slight upper-crust or veneer of egotism and affectation, which generally hides the better qualities of young men on first entering into life, and just released from their "mother's apron string" and the trammels of home and school. Tom Hartshorne was little more than nineteen, and it was a wonder, with his bringing up, that he was what he was; but nothing could altogether taint the sterling stuff of which he was composed. He was one who could pass through the lighter follies of military life unscathed, and only wanted some strong impetus, some ardent motive to bring him out in his true colours. Tom Hartshorne had made the acquaintance of Markworth about a year previous to the meeting with which the story opens--in fact just after he had been gazetted to his cornetcy, and had taken to him at once--and Markworth had apparently taken to him, a sort of chemical affinity of opposing forces. It may be thought strange that natures so dissimilar should agree, but so it was. The Latin proverb is often curiously wrong; instead of _similes similibus curantur_, the prefix _dis_ should be added, and then the axiom would be complete. When Tom first met Markworth, who had received an invitation to the mess of the --th, he was struck with him, and on introduction came to like him greatly, for he was so clever, so agreeable, so different to the men he had previously met that he could not fail to be impressed; you always find young men take to a man of the world, particularly if he be like such a man as Markworth was.