But, alas, this was easier said than done, like most things in this world of words. When I had put myself into choice apparel, with hat and tie exhibiting my College colours--which we should have carried to the head of the river, if fate had not swept me from the New College boat--and when I had impeached that fate again, for not affording me my brother Harold's face, yet resolving to brazen it out, had appeared inside the lower door of St. Winifred's stronghold (which I knew how to open by the owner's counsel)--instead of finding things in their wonted peace, orderly, picturesque, in statuesque repose, at a glance I descried a very warlike change. There was Stepan with a long gun, and cartridges enough in the bandoleer on his braided frock to account for all the civic force, as well as half of Aldershot; and behind him a score of fellows no less martial. Both the gigantic dogs were loose, and equally resolute against invasion; even little Allai was in a clump of trees, with a dagger as long as himself in both hands, and his white teeth ground against all Albion. In the name of wonder, what could be in the wind? Just like my luck of course it was, at a most important moment, to hit upon something far more momentous to the very people I was come to move. "Good Stepan, I pray thee to communicate unto me the signification of the matters I behold." For I knew that this trusty Caucasian had picked up a bit of our language, and preferred the long bits. He rolled his fine eyes, which were big enough for mill-stones, and in his still bigger mind revolved the sounds which had vainly reached his ears. "What are you up to now?" I amended my enquiry; and having heard the milk-boy say something to that tune, when they declined so much of heaven in his cans, he bowed his head magnificently, and said, "All right." This is the first consolation found by a foreigner in our language. It is courteous to ourselves as well, and shows confidence in our country. "What a fool you are!" I cried, with a Briton's low ingratitude; and then I saw the stately figure of Sûr Imar coming towards me. This king of the mountains looked as calm as if he had been girded with ancestral snow. There was no sort of weapon in his broad white belt, and no menace worse than a hospitable smile upon his large fair countenance. He took me by both hands, with a tenderness for the left, which proved how kind his memory was, and led the way to a seat beneath the ivied wall, and looked at me as if he liked me. "I have been expecting you for many days," he said; and nothing but a little turn of voice just here and there could have led one to suppose that he was not of English birth; "why have you never come to show me whether I am a good physician?"