‘As was to be expected—a success,’ he replied—‘a magnificent success, though I say so. Not perhaps in the number of copies sold. But what is worldly fame, and how can we expect the carnal man to favour spiritual things? Not, again, from a pecuniary point of view. But what is filthy lucre? His lordship’s philanthropy has enabled him, so to speak, to make the book a present, a free gift to the elect. No, not in such material gains as Christians will leave to the unsanctified, to a Scott or a Byron, does success lie; but in the cause of the Gospel. And, if humble I have been instrumental to that success, either in assisting his lordship’s deeper intellect, as the mouse might the lion, or in having the book properly pushed in certain Gospel quarters where I have a little unworthy influence—’ (Unworthy indeed, I doubt not, thought I!)—‘why, then—have I not my reward—I say, have I not my reward?’ I thought he certainly had. For being aware he wrote the whole book himself, and tacked his patron’s name to it, I began to suspect shrewdly he had been franked at College as hush-money, the book being a dead failure. And so I told the good old Master next day, who slapped his thigh and chuckled, and then scolded me for an impudent truth-speaking fellow who would come to ruin by his honesty. I assured him that I should tell no one but him, having discovered at Hover that the wisdom of the serpent was compatible with the innocence of the dove, and that I expected to need both in my dealing with Mr. Halidane. ‘Why, I understood that he was an intimate friend of yours. He told me that your being here was one of the main reasons for his choosing this College. He entreated humbly to be allowed rooms as near you as possible. So—as he came with the highest recommendations from Lord Longmoor—we have put him just over your head!’ I groaned audibly. ‘What’s the matter? He is not given to playing skittles, or practising the fiddle at midnight, is he?’ ‘Heavens, no!’ But I groaned again, at the thought of having Halidane tied to me, riding me pick-a-back as the Old Man of the Sea did Sindbad, for three years to come. In explanation I told the Master a good deal of what I knew. About Nellie, however, I still said not one word. The Master smiled mischievously. ‘I suspect the object of his sudden conversion from sectarianism is one of my lord’s fat livings. You may see him a bishop yet, Brownlow, for a poor opinion of his own merits will never stand in the way of his promotion.—Well, I will keep my eye on this promising convert to the Church of England as by Law Established, meanwhile—and you may do the same if you like.’