"I saw
you standing in the bar-room of the hotel, just now, as we came up."
"Yes," sighed the stranger, "I was there--waiting for a Western
friend--when you passed in. And has sorrow, then, so changed me, that
you do not know me? Alas! alack! woe's me!"
"BENTHAM, you say?" cried the Ritualistic clergyman, with a start, and
sudden change of countenance. "Surely you're not the rollicking
fellow-student who saved my life at Yale?"
"I am! I am!" sobbed the other, smiting his bosom. "While studying
theology, you'd gone to sleep in bed reading the Decameron. I, in the
next room, suddenly smelt a smell of wood burning. Breaking into your
apartment, I saw your candle fallen upon your pillow and your head on
fire. Believing that, if neglected, the flames would spread to some
vital part, I seized a water-pitcher and dashed the contents upon you.
Up you instantly sprang, with a theological expression on your lips, and
engaged me in violent single combat. "Madman!" roared I, "is it thus you
treat one who has saved your life?" Falling upon the floor, with a black
eye, you at once consented to be reconciled; and, from that hour forth,
we were both members of the same secret society.
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