The most unaccountable thing in the world! but Marian, who had received with perfect coolness the homage of Sir Langham, and whose conscience smote her with no compunctions for the slaying of the gifted American, had strangely lost her self-possession to-day. She only replied in the sedatest and gravest manner possible to the questions of her companion--looked anxiously at the parlour window for an opportunity of calling Agnes, and with the greatest embarrassment longed for the presence of some one to end this _tête-à-tête_. Louis, on the contrary, exerted himself for her amusement, and was as different from the Louis of last night as it was possible to conceive. “Ay, there it is,” said Louis, who had just asked her what she knew of Oxford--“there it is, the seat of learning, thrusting up all its pinnacles to the sun; but I think, if the world were wise, this glitter and shining might point to the dark, dark ignorance outside of it, even more than to the little glow within.” Now this was not much in Marian’s way--but her young squire, who would have submitted himself willingly to her guidance had she given any, was not yet acquainted at all with the ways of Marian. She said, simply looking at the big dome sullenly throwing off the sunbeams, and at the glancing arrowheads, of more impressible and delicate kind, “I think it is very pretty, with all those different spires and towers; but do you mean it is the poor people who are so very ignorant? It seems as though people could scarcely help learning who live there.” “Yes, the poor people--I mean all of us,” said Louis slowly, and with a certain painful emphasis. “A great many of the villagers, it is true, have never been to school; but I do not count a man ignorant who knows what he has to do, and how to do it, though he never reads a book, nor has pen in hand all his life. I save my pity for a more unfortunate ignorance than that.” “But that is very bad,” said Marian decidedly, “because there is more to do than just to work, and we ought to know about--about a great many things. Agnes knows better than I.” This was said very abruptly, and meant that Agnes knew better what Marian meant to say than she herself did. The youth at her side, however, showed no inclination for any interpreter. He seemed, indeed, to be rather pleased than otherwise with this breaking off. “When I was away, I was in strange enough quarters, and learnt something about knowledge,” said Louis, “though not much knowledge itself--heaven help me! I suppose I was not worthy of that.” “And did you really run away?” asked Marian, growing bolder with this quickening of personal interest. “I really ran away,” said the young man, a hot flush passing for an instant over his brow; and then he smiled--a kind of daring desperate smile, which seemed to say “what I have done once I can do again.”