The speaker was Arthur Cole, a student of Magdalen College, who was now a frequent visitor at the Bridge House.  He was a young man of good family and prospects, nearly related to one of the proctors of the university.  He had a good presence, an elegant figure, and was master of many favourite sports and pastimes.  He kept horses and dogs and falcons, and had several servants lodging in the town to look after these creatures, and to attend him when he sallied forth in search of sport.  Moreover, he had recently introduced into Oxford the Italian game of “calcio” (of which more anon), and was one of the most popular and important men of his college.  He was always dressed with great care and elegance, although he was no fop; and he was so handsome and so merry withal that all who knew him regarded him with favour, and his friendship was regarded as a sort of passport to the best circle of university life.

Freda and Magdalen answered his appeal with smiling glances.  They were holding one of their little mimic courts in the garden by the river.  Their father had been reading and discoursing with sundry students, who came to him for instruction more individual and particular than could be given in the schools in the earlier part of the day; and the young men before leaving always sought to gain speech with the two fair sisters, who were generally at this hour to be found in the garden.

Arthur Cole, Anthony Dalaber, and Hugh Fitzjames, their cousin, had lingered to the last, and now were talking of the joustings and merry makings of the approaching May Day, which was ushered in by the melodious concert from the summit of Magdalen College tower.

In olden days this was not a sacred selection of hymns, but madrigals, roundelays, and “merrie katches,” as the old chroniclers term them, sung by the boys maintained for the musical part of the daily service, and by such singing men or musically inclined students as were willing and able to help.  Anthony Dalaber, who possessed an excellent voice, which he often employed in the service of Cardinal College Chapel, had been invited to assist this year; and a new singing man from that college, Stephen Radley by name, was considered a great acquisition.

This man had not long been in Oxford, and had been sent by the cardinal himself on account of his remarkable voice.  He did not live in the college itself, but in a lodging near at hand, and equally near to Magdalen College.  Arthur Cole, foremost to discover talent and appreciate it, and attracted by the fine presence and muscular development of the singer, had struck up a friendship with him, and Dalaber had followed his example in this.

“Radley will lead off the madrigal to springtide and love,” he cried, “which erstwhile has been spoiled for lack of a voice that can be heard alone from such a height.  I trow it will ring through the soft air like a silver trumpet.  You will be there to hear?” and his eyes dwelt upon the face of Freda, whilst those of Arthur rested more particularly upon that of Magdalen.