The night after the terrible lexicon quarrel, which, you will observe, arose entirely from Charles’s good resolution to set to work reading — whereby we should take warning not to be too sanguine of good resolutions, taken late, bringing forth good fruit — the very evening I say after this fracas, Charles, his father, and Mary, were sitting in the library together. Of course Densil had heard nothing of the disturbance, and was, good old gentleman, as happy as you please; all his elements of pleasure were there. Father Mackworth was absent. Father Tiernay was throwing his whole hearty soul into a splendid copy of Bewick’s birds, date 1799. Cuthbert was before the upper fireplace, beyond the pillar, poring over goodness only knows what monkish lore; while close to him was bird Mary sewing, and Charles leading aloud a book, very often quoted in everyday life, unconsciously.

Charles read how Mr. Quilp begged Mr. Brass would take particular care of himself, or he would never forgive him; how there was a dog in the lane who had killed a boy on Tuesday, and bitten a man on Friday; how the og lived on the right hand side, but generally lurked on the left, ready for a spring: and they were laughing over Mr. Brass’s horror, when there came a noise of wheels on the gravel.

“That is Marston, father, for a thousand pounds,” said Charles.

He hurried into the hall, as the men were undoing the door; Mary, dropping her work, went after him; and Densil, taking his stick, came too. Cuthbert looked up from the further end of the room, and then bent his head over his book again. Father Tiernay looked up, inquisitive and interested, but sat still. They who followed into the hall saw this.

Charles stood in front of the hall door, and out of the winter’s darkness came a man, with whom, as Mary once playfully said, she had fallen in love at once. It was Marston.

Charles went up to him quickly with both hands out, and said —

“We are so glad.”

“It is very kind of you. God bless you; how did you know it?”

“We know nothing, my dear Marston, except that you are welcome. Now put me out of my pain.”

“Why, well,” said the other, “I don’t know how it has happened; but I have got my double first.”

Charles gave a wild cheer, and the others were all on him directly — Densil, Tiernay, Cuthbert, and all. Never was such a welcome; not one of them, save Charles, had ver seen him before, yet they welcomed him as an old friend.

“You have not been to Ranford then?” said Charles.

“Why, no. I did not feel inclined for it after so much work. I must take it on my way back.”

Lord Saltire’s gout was better tonight, and he was down stairs. He proceeded to remark that, having been n; well, he wouldn’t shock Miss Corby by saying here — for a day or so, he had suddenly, through no merit of his own, got promoted back into purgatory. That, having fought against the blue devils, and come down stairs, for the sole purpose of making himself disagreeable, he had been rewarded, for that display of personal energy and self-sacrifice, by most unexpectedly meeting a son of his old friend, Jackdaw Marston. He begged to welcome his old friend’s son, and to say that, by Jove, he was proud of him. His young friend’s father had not been a brilliant scholar, as his young friend was; but had been one of the first whist-players in England. His young friend had turned his attention to scholastic honours, in preference to whist, which might or might not be a mistake: though he believed he was committing no breach of trust in saying that the position had been thrust on his young friend from pecuniary motives. Property had an infernal trick of deteriorating. His own property had not happened to deteriorate (none knew why, for he had given it every chance); but the property of his young friend’s father having eteriorated in a confounded rapid sort of way, he must say that it was exceedingly creditable in his young friend to have made such a decided step towards bringing matters right again as he had.”

“My father’s son, my Lord, thanks you for your kind remembrance of his father. I have always desired to see and meet my father’s old friends, of whom you, Mr. Ravenshoe, were among the kindest. We have given............