“Come in,” said a gruff voice, as if the knocking had been done in the most conventional manner. Maitland had come in by this time, and found the distinguished Mr. Bielby, Fellow of St. Gatien’s, sitting by his fireside, attired in a gray shooting-coat, and busy with a book and a pipe. This gentleman had, on taking his degree, gone to town, and practised with singular success at the Chancery Bar. But on some sudden disgust or disappointment, he threw up his practice, returned to College, and there lived a retired life among his “brown Greek manuscripts.” He was a man of the world, turned hermit, and the first of the kind whom Maitland had ever known. He had “coached” Maitland, though he usually took no pupils, and remained his friend and counsellor. “How are you, Maitland?” said the student, without rising. “I thought, from the way in which you knocked, that you were some of the young men, coming to ‘draw me,’ as I think they call it.” Mr. Bielby smiled as he spoke. He knew that the undergraduates were as likely to “draw” him as boys who hunt a hare are likely to draw a fierce old bear that “dwells among bones and blood.” Mr. Bielby’s own environment, to be sure, was not of the grisly and mortuary character thus energetically described by the poet His pipe was in his hand. His broad, bald, red face, ending in an auburn spade-shaped beard, wore the air of content. Around him were old books that had belonged to famous students of old--Scaliger, Meursius, Muretus--and before him lay the proof-sheets of his long-deferred work, a new critical edition of “Demetrius of Scepsis.” Looking at his friend, Maitland envied the learned calm of a man who had not contrived, in the task of developing his own human nature, to become involved, like his pupil, in a singular and deplorable conjuncture of circumstances. “The men are making a terrible riot in quad,” he said, answering the other’s remark. “Yes, yes,” replied Bielby, genially; “boys will be boys, and so will young men. I believe our Torpid has bumped Keble, and the event is being celebrated.” Here there came a terrific howl from without, and a crash of broken glass. “There go some windows into their battels,” said Mr. Bielby. “They will hear of this from the Provost But what brings you here, Maitland, so unexpectedly? Very glad to see you, whatever it is.” “Well, sir,” said Maitland, “I rather want to ask your advice on an important matter. The fact is, to begin at the beginning of a long story, that some time ago I got, more or less, engaged to be married.” This was not a very ardent or lover-like announcement, but Bielby seemed gratified.