Notwithstanding this scene, I had been rather earnestly observing a distant but very lady-like figure walking across the grass, by the side of some rails, and I felt somewhat disappointed, and dissatisfied, when, at length, it vanished among the trees. I was now resting myself at the foot of one, and deeply engrossed in the desultory wanderings of a beetle on the ground, between my feet. I am not conscious how long a time I might have been thus amusing myself, when I was roused by an indistinct rustle close to me, and, on looking up, I saw before me the lady-like figure. In the surprise of the moment, I was possessed with a vague consciousness of some former acquaintance, and in the first impulse, my hand nearly reached my hat, but, in doubt, I withheld it. She, too, seemed to be in the like predicament, bending slightly with the neck, and I even fancied that her lips moved. The next moment, she had passed on, and I became sensible of the presence of "my little Frogmore girl!" Could I have the presumption to renew, at this moment, such a brief and casual interview, and so long ago, too? What was I to do! Had she given me a slight token of recognition, or had she not? At this moment, I am astonished at my determination. In a desperate state of agitation, yet without a chance of wavering, I now rose, and walked along the avenue to overtake her, as she was turning down another to the right. On gaining the corner, I found her a few yards in advance, seated on a bench with several other persons. I at once kept directly down the first avenue without passing her. Here, at last, then, had I once more met with Miss Curzon! Yet how was she altered! She was now about sixteen, and considerably above the common height of women, and her figure possessed an air of far greater slenderness than when I first met her. Then, too, her hair, which was mostly concealed, was light--now she wore a profusion of it, of a dark and glossy brown. She was in deep mourning. Every day did I direct my steps to this hallowed spot, but in vain. She had been on a visit, I suppose, and had now left the neighbourhood. But, to my imagination, she was ever present, the last vision at night, and the first in the morning, but I never could dream about her. CHAPTER VIII. Though ever leading a life very much at variance with the established discipline of the college, it was seldom that I was detected; but about this time, though really living in far greater conformity to its rules than usual, it was very hard upon me that I should now meet with a surprising run of ill-luck.