The forest, with its patterns of golden sunlight and its colonnades of trees crowding away into darkness, was less visible than those towers to Hillyard, as he stood with the envelope in his hand.

Once more he swung down the High and across the Broad from a lecture with a ragged gown across his arm.

Merton and the House, New College and Magdalen Tower--he saw the enchanted city across Christ Church meadows from the river, he looked down upon it from Headington, and again from those high fields where, at twilight, the scholar-gipsy used to roam.

For the letter was in the hand of Harry Luttrell.
He tore it open and read: "_Some one in London is asking for you.

Who it is I don't know.