comment.  Their intimacy was accepted as an established fact, and nothing but the difference in their ages prevented the conclusion that it was love, and not mere friendship, which brought them together.  There was, no doubt, a strong feeling among many people that Number Five’s affections were a kind of Gibraltar or Ehrenbreitstein, say rather a high table-land in the region of perpetual, unmelting snow.  It was hard for these people to believe that any man of mortal mould could find a foothold in that impregnable fortress,—­could climb to that height and find the flower of love among its glaciers.  The Tutor and Number Five were both quiet, thoughtful:  he, evidently captivated; she, what was the meaning of her manner to him?  Say that she seemed fond of him, as she might be were he her nephew,—­one for whom she had a special liking.  If she had a warmer feeling than this, she could hardly know how to manage it; for she was so used to having love made to her without returning it that she would naturally be awkward in dealing with the new experience.

The Doctor drove a lively five-year-old horse, and took the lead.  The Tutor followed with a quiet, steady-going nag; if he had driven the five-year-old, I would not have answered for the necks of the pair in the chaise, for he was too much taken up with the subject they were talking of, to be very careful about his driving.  The Mistress and her escort brought up the rear,—­I holding the reins, the Professor at my side, and Number Seven sitting with the Mistress.

We arrived at the institution a little later than we had expected to, and the students were flocking into the hall, where the Commencement exercises were to take place, and the medal-scholars were to receive the tokens of their excellence in the various departments.  From our seats we could see the greater part of the assembly,—­not quite all, however of the pupils.  A pleasing sight it was to look upon, this array of young ladies dressed in white, with their class badges, and with the ribbon of the shade of blue affected by the scholars of the institution.  If Solomon in all his glory was not to be compared to a lily, a whole bed of lilies could not be compared to this garden-bed of youthful womanhood.

The performances were very much the same as most of us have seen at the academies and collegiate schools.  Some of the graduating class read their “compositions,” one of which was a poem,—­an echo of the prevailing American echoes, of course, but prettily worded and intelligently read.  Then there was a song sung by a choir of the pupils, led by their instructor, who was assisted by the Musician whom we count among The Teacups.—­There was something in one of the voices that reminded me of one I had heard before.  Where could it have been?  I am sure I cannot remember.  There are some good voices in our village choir, but none so pure and bird-like as this.  A sudden thought came into my head, but I kept it to myself.  I heard a tremulous