They formed a striking contrast, the one sitting hatless, dark, eager, and apparently full of repressed vitality, his muscles standing out from arm and leg, and his whole aspect bespeaking the informal and natural; while the other was a pale, delicate, handsomely-featured, fair man, apparently of the same age, with his face smoothly shaven, his hair very closely cut, the hand that held the book tightly gloved in black, the other that turned down a leaf that seemed disposed to dally with the wind, delicate, long-fingered, white, and with nails most carefully trimmed. Formality, culture, and refinement were visible at every turn, and as he became aware that his travelling-companion was watching him, he looked up with a half-haughty, half-annoyed air, and met the sharp, keen glance. "Book interesting?" said the other, in a quick, imperative way. "I always find my studies interesting," said the young clergyman coldly, and speaking as if compelled to answer in spite of himself. He then lowered his eyes, and was about to continue his reading. "What is it?" said the other. "Ah! I see, `Early Fathers,' and the rest of it. My word! what a lot of time I did waste over that sort of thing!" "Waste?" said the clergyman, indignantly. "Yes: I call it waste. You don't." "I never knew that study could be considered a waste of time, sir." "No, of course not, when it is to do yourself or somebody else good." A hot, indignant retort was on the young cleric's lips, but he checked it, and was taking refuge in reserve, when the other went on,-- "Don't think me rude: it's my way. I saw you were an Oxford man; that's why I spoke. Is old Rexton still at Maudlin?" "The Dean, if you mean him, is still at Magdalen College, sir," said the clergyman, frigidly. "Rum old fellow. How he used to sit upon me. Not a Maudlin man, I suppose?" "I had the honour of being at that college, sir, when at Oxford." "Indeed! then it couldn't have been very far from the time when I was there." "You--were you an Oxford man?" said the clergyman, staring blankly at his companion, who smiled at his astonishment. "To be sure I was. You'll find my name there--Geoffrey Trethick." "I--I have heard the name." "And I am addressing--" For answer, after a little hesitation, the clergyman drew out a small pocket-book, with red edges to the diary, and carefully extracted a card, on which the other read aloud,-- "`Reverend Edward Lee, Carnac.' Humph! that's odd," he said. "I'm going to live at Carnac. Do you know a Mr Penwynn there?" "Penwynn, the banker, sir?" said the coachman, turning his head sharply, and pointing to a grey house just above the town, sheltered amongst some trees at the head of the little bay. "That's his house, sir--An Morlock." "Thanks, coachman. Did you say you knew him, Mr Lee?"