The youth started, and looked round. He blushed, ran to the table, seized the paper on which he had been writing, and concealed it in confusion.

“Oh! my lord, I knew not that you were so near me. Can I be of use to you? Lucas is already gone to bed.”

“I shall follow his example when I have given my opinion of your verses.”

“My verses, my lord?”

“Nay, I am sure that you have been writing some, for nothing else could have kept you awake till this time of the morning. Where are they, Theodore? I shall like to see your composition.”

Theodore’s cheeks glowed with still deeper crimson: he longed to show his poetry, but first chose to be pressed for it.

“Indeed, my lord, they are not worthy your attention.”