CLARIAN'S PICTURE.
A LEGEND OF NASSAU HALL.
"Turbine raptus ingenii."--Scaliger
[concluded.]
The next morning there was queer talk about Clarian. Mac and I stared
at each other when we heard it at breakfast, but still kept our own
counsel in silence. Some late walkers had met him in the moonlight,
crossing the campus at full speed, hatless, dripping wet, and flying
like a ghost.
"I tell you," said our informant, a good enough fellow, and one not
prone to be violently startled, "he scared me, as he flitted past.
His eyes were like saucers, his hair wet and streaming behind him,
his face white as a chalk-mark on Professor Cosine's blackboard.
Depend on it, that boy's either going mad or has got into some
desperate scrape."
"Pshaw!" growled Mac, "you were drunk,--couldn't see straight."
"Mr. Innocence was returning from some assignation, I suspect",
remarked Zoile.
"If he had been, _you'd_ have encountered him, Mr. Zoile," said Mac,
curtly.
But I noticed my chum did not like this new feature in the case.
After this, until the time of my receiving the lad's invitation, I
neither saw nor had communication with Clarian, nor did any others of
us.
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