The next day the students rushed in crowds to the university to listen to the discourse of the learned and worthy Herr Lupinus.  Not only the students and the professors, but many other persons, were assembled in the hall to honor the young man, of whom the professors said that he was not only a model of scholarship, but of modesty and virtue.  Even actors were seen to grace the holy halls of science on this occasion, and the students laughed with delight and cried “Bravo!” as they recognized near Fredersdorf the noble and sharp profile of Eckhof.  They had often rushed madly to thee theatre; why should he not sometimes honor the university?

But Eckhof was indifferent to the joyful greeting of the students; he gazed steadily toward the door, through which his young friend must enter the hall; and now, as the hour struck, he stooped over Fredersdorf and seized his hand.

“Friend,” said he, “a wondrous anxiety oppresses me.  It seems to me I am in the presence of a sphinx, who is in the act of solving a great mystery!  I am a coward, and would take refuge in flight, but curiosity binds me to my seat.”

“You promised poor Lupinus to be here,” said Fredersdorf, earnestly.  “It is, perhaps, the last friendly service you can ever show him—­ Ah! there he is.”

A cry of surprise burst from the lips of all.  There, in the open door, stood, not the student Lupinus, but a young maiden, in a white satin robe-a young maiden with the pale, thoughtful, gentle face of Lupinus.  A man stood on each side of her, and she leaned upon the arm of one of them, as if for support, as they walked slowly through the room.  Her large eyes wandered questioningly and anxiously over the audience; and now, her glance met Eckhof’s, and a deadly pallor covered her face.  She tried to smile, and bowed her head in greeting.

“This is the secret from which I wished to fly,” murmured Eckhof.  “I guessed it yesterday.”

“I knew it long since,” said Fredersdorf, sadly; “it was my most beautiful and cherished dream that your hearts should find and love each other.  Have I not often told you that Lupinus was not your friend, but your bride; that no woman would ever love you as he did?  You would not understand me.  Your heart was of stone, and her happiness has been crushed by it.”

“Poor, unhappy girl!” sighed Eckhof, and tears ran slowly down his cheeks.  “I have acted the part of a barbarian toward you!  Yesterday with smiling lips I pressed a dagger in her heart; she did not curse, but blessed me!”

“Listen! she speaks!”

It was the maiden’s father who spoke.  In simple phrase he asked forgiveness of the Faculty, for having dared to send them a daughter, in place of a son.  But it had been his cherished wish to prove that only the arrogance and prejudice of men had banished women from the universities.  Heaven had denied him a son.  He had soon discovered that his daughter was rarely endowed; he determined to educate her as a son, and thus repair the loss fate had prepared for him.  His daughter entered readily into his plans, and solemnly swore to guard her secret until she had completed her studies.  She had fulfilled this promise, and now stood here to ask the Faculty if they would grant a woman a diploma.