Miss Cavendish explained that her aunt did not care about seeing more of the University than she had already seen, and preferred to remain in the house with the bishop"s widow and rest that day.
And so, under the circ.u.mstances, they--Miss Cavendish and her young friends--had decided not to have a carriage, but to take advantage of the fine morning and walk the short mile that lay between the village and its great seat of learning.
Nothing could have pleased their escorts better than this plan.
And soon they--the party of five--set out upon the pleasant country road that led out to the University.
Emma Cavendish and Laura Lytton led the way, and by Laura"s side walked the Rev. Mr. Lyle. Electra dropped a little behind, and was attended by Victor Hartman.
They talked of the fine morning and of the beautiful country, of the grand Commencement of the preceding day and of the University they were going to see; but they talked in an absent-minded manner, as if, indeed, they were both thinking of something else.
This lasted until they were half-way to the place, when at length Electra turned suddenly upon Victor and said:
"Do you know, Mr. Brent, that your face seems a very familiar one to me?"
"Indeed!" said Victor, bending his head nearer to her.
"Yes, indeed! Your face struck me as being familiar the first moment I saw you, and this impression has grown deeper every moment we have been walking together; and now I _know_ of whom you remind me," answered Electra; and then she paused and looked at him.
He made no remark.
"You do not care to know who that was, it seems," she said.
"Oh, yes, I do, I a.s.sure you, Miss Coroni, if you please to tell me!"
"Then you remind me of a poor lad whom I once knew and liked very much in New York, when I was as poor as himself," said Electra, meaningly.
"It is very kind of you to remember the poor lad after so many years and so many changes," replied Victor.
"I wonder if that poor lad ever thinks of _me_, "after so many years and so many changes?"" murmured Electra, musingly.
"I don"t know. Tell me his name, and then perhaps I can answer your question. I have roamed around the world a good deal and seen a great many different sorts of people. Who knows but I may have met your poor lad? Let us have his name," said Victor, gravely.
They were both, to use a household phrase, "beating about the bush."
"Oh, he was too poor to own a name! But he was cook"s boy on board a merchantman, and they called him "Galley Vick." I never knew him by any other name. Did you ever see him at all?"
"Oh, yes, I"ve seen him! A good-for-nothing little vagabond he was! No, I don"t suppose he ever dares to think about such a fine young lady as you are. But he cherishes the memory of a poor little girl he once knew in Rat Alley, New York. And only the day before yesterday, when I happened to be with him, he was saying how much he would give to know what had become of that poor little girl."
"Yes, it was very nice of him to remember her," said Electra, musingly.
"You say that you knew the poor lad in New York. Perhaps, as they were so much together, you may have known the poor little girl also?" said Victor.
"I can not tell you unless you give me her name. There were so many poor little girls in New York," answered Electra, shaking her head.
"_She_, like the boy, was too poor then to own a name. They called her "Sal"s Kid." I never knew her by any other name," answered Victor.
And then their eyes met, and both laughed and impulsively put out their hands, which were then clasped together.
"I knew you at the very first sight, Vick," said Electra, giving full way to her feelings of pleasure in meeting her old playmate again.
"And so did I you. Heaven bless you, child! I am so happy and thankful to find you here, so healthy and prosperous. You were a sickly, poor little thing when I knew you," said Victor, with much emotion.
"I was a famished poor little thing, you mean, food has made all the difference, Victor," laughed Electra.
"My name is Joseph Brent, my dear," said Hartman, who almost trembled to hear the old name spoken.
"Ah, but Sal"s Kid knew you only as Galley Vick. I thought Vick was the short for Victor. But it seems you really had a name all the time as well as I had, though neither of us suspected we possessed such an appendage."
Hartman bowed in silence.
"And now I suppose you would like to know how it happens that you find poor little ragged, famished, sickly Sal"s Kid, who used to live in Rat Alley among thieves and tramps, here--well lodged, well dressed and in good company?"
"Yes, I really would."
"Well, it was "all along of" a grandfather."
"A grandfather!"
"Yes, a grandfather. I really had a grandfather! And I have him still.
And you have seen him, and his name is Dr. Beresford Jones. And, moreover, I had a great-grandfather back of _him_; and also forefathers behind _them_, and ancestors extending away back to antiquity. In fact, I think they ran away back to Adam!"
"I dare say they did," answered Victor, with a smile; "but tell me about that grandfather."
"Well, you must know that he was wealthy. He owned Beresford Manors. He had one child, "sole daughter of the house." She married a poor young Italian music-master against her father"s will. Her father cast her off.
Her husband took her to New York, where they fell by degrees into the deepest dest.i.tution. They both died of cholera, leaving me to the care of the miserable beings who were their fellow-lodgers in the old tenement house. I believe I was pa.s.sed from the hands of one beggar to those of another, until my ident.i.ty was lost and my real name forgotten.
But I do not clearly remember any of my owners except Sal. And I was called "Sal"s Kid.""
"It was then I knew you," said Victor.
"So it was. Well, you know all about that period. It was soon after you went to sea that Sal"s husband, being mad with drink and jealousy, struck his wife a fatal blow and killed her."
"Horrible!"
"Yes, horrible! I have heard since that the man died of _mania-a-potu_ in the Tombs, before his trial came on."
"And you?"
"I was taken by the Commissioners of Charity and put into the Orphan Asylum at Randall"s Island."
"And how did your grandfather ever find you there, where your very name was lost?"
"You may well ask that. My name was lost. I suppose, hearing me called Sal"s Kid, they mistook that for Sal Kidd. Any way they registered my name on the books of the Island as Sarah Kidd."
Victor laughed at this piece of ingenuity on the part of the authorities, and again expressed wonder as to how her grandfather ever found her.
"If I were a heathen, I should say he found me by chance. It looked like it. You see, he had met with misfortunes. His wife--my grandmother--died. And he was growing old, and his home was lonely and his life was dreary. And so he relented toward his poor daughter, and even toward her husband."