A growing anxiety began to take possession of Charles shortly before Christmas, arising from the state of his father’s health. Densil was failing. His memory was getting defective, and his sense dulled. His eye always was searching for Charles, and he was uneasy at his absence. So it was with a vague sense of impending misfortune that he got a letter from the dean of his college, summoning him back after the Christmas vacation.

Mr. Dean said, “That Mr. Ravenshoe’s case had been reconsidered, and that, at the warm, and, he thought, misguided, intercession of the Bursar, a determination had been come to, to allow Mr. Ravenshoe to come into residence again for the Lent term. He trusted that this would be a warning, and that, while there was time, he would arrest himself in that miserable career of vice and folly which could only have one termination — utter ruin in this world, and in the next.”

A college “Don ” by long practice, acquires a power of hurting a young man’s feelings, utterly beyond competition, save by a police magistrate. Charles winced nder this letter; but the same day Mary, coming singing down stairs as was her wont, was alarmed by the descent of a large opaque body of considerable weight down the well of the staircase, which lodged in the wood basket at the bottom, and which, on examining, she found to be a Liddell and Scott’s Lexicon. At which she rejoiced; for she concluded that Charles had taken to reading again, though why he should begin by throwing his books down stairs she could not well understand, until he joined her and explained that he had been dusting it on the landing, and that it had slipped out of his hand.

“What a crack it came down,” added he; “I wish Father Mackworth’s head had been underneath it.”

“I have no doubt of it, young gentleman,” said the priest quietly from behind; and there he was with his hand on the library door, and in he went and shut it behind him.

Mary and Charles were both awfully disconcerted. Mary felt horribly guilty; in fact, if the priest had remained quiet one moment more, he would undoubtedly have heard one or two candid, and far from complimentary remarks about himself from that young lady, which would have made his ears tingle.

“Confound him,” said Charles; “how he glides about! He learned that trick, and a few others, at that precious Jesuit College of his. They teach them that sort of thing as the old Jews teach the young pick-pockets. The old father inquisitor puts the door ajar ith a bell against it, and they all have to come in one after another. The one who rings it gets dropped on to like blazes.”

Mary was going to ask what exact amount of personal suffering being dropped on to like blazes involved; but Charles stopped her, and took her hand.

“Mary dear,” he said, “do you ever think of the future?”

“Night and day, Charles, — night and day.”

“If he dies, Mary? When he dies?”

“Night and day, brother,” she answered, taking one of his great brown hands between her two white little palms. “I dream in my sleep of the new regime which is to come, and I see only trouble, and again trouble.”

“And then?”

“There is a God in heaven, Charles.”

“Ay, but, Mary, what will you do?”

“I?” and she laughed the merriest little laugh ever you heard. “Little me? Why, go for a governess to be sure. Charles, they shall love me so that this life shall be a paradise. I will go into a family where there are two beautiful girls; and, when I am old and withered, there shall be two nurseries in which I shall be often welcome, where the children shall come babbling to my knee, the darlings, and shall tell me how they love me, almost as well as their mother. There is my future. Would you change it?”

Charles was leaning against the oak banister; and, when he saw her there before him, when he saw that valiant true-hearted face, in the light which streamed from the old window above, he was rebuked, and bent down his head on the rail. The Dean’s letter of that morning had done something; but the sight of that brave little woman, so fearless with all the world before her, did more. She weak, friendless, moneyless, and so courageous! He with the strong arm, so cowardly! It taught him a lesson indeed, a lesson he never forgot. But oh! for that terrible word — too late!

Ah! too late! What word is so terrible as that? You will see what I mean soon. That is the cry which one writer puts in the mouths of the lost spirits in hell. God’s mercy is infinite, and it is yet a question whether it were better for Charles to have fallen into the groove of ordinary life, or to have gone through those humiliating scenes through which we must follow him. "Charley dear,” said Mary, laying her hand on his shoulder, “it is not about myself I am thinking; it is about you. What are you going to do when he is gone? are you going into the Church?”

“Oh, no!” said Charles, “I couldn’t bear the idea of that.”

“Then, why are you at Oxford?”

“To get an education, I suppose.”

“But what use will a university education be to you, Charles? Have you no plans?”

“I give you my word, my dear Mary, that I am as much in the dark about the future as a five days old puppy.”

“Has he made any provision for you?”

“Oh, yes! I am to have six thousand.”

“Do you know that the estate is involved, Charles?”

“No.”

“I believe it is. There has been a great deal of state kept up here, and I believe it is the case.”

“Cuthbert would soon bring that round.”

“I tremble............