For indeed it was true that he had never advanced in strength or looks since his return, but rather lost ground, and thus every change of weather, or extra exertion, told on him, till in August he was caught in a thunder-storm, and the cold that ensued ran on into a feverish attack, which barely left him in time for the Ordination, and then with a depressed system, and nerves morbidly sensitive.

So sensible (or more than sensible) was he of his deficiencies, that he would willingly have held back, and he was hardly well enough to do himself justice; but there was no doubt that he would pass, and it was plain that three more months of the strain of preparation might leave permanent effects on his health.

As it was, the examining chaplain did not recognize the lean, pale, anxious man, for the round-faced, rosy, overgrown boy of a year ago.  His scholarship and critical knowledge were fairly above the mark, in spite of a racking headache; and his written sermon, together with all that was elicited from him, revealed, all unconsciously to himself, what treasures he had brought back from the deep waters which had so nearly closed over him.

So superior had he shown himself, that he was appointed to read the Gospel, a choice that almost shocked him, knowing that what had made him excel had been an experience that the younger men had happily missed.  But the mark of approval was compensation to his parents and sisters for the disappointment of the last year, and the only drawback was fear of the effect of the long ceremonial, so deeply felt.

He met them afterwards, very white-faced, with head aching, and weary almost beyond speech, but with a wonderfully calm, restful look on his face, such as reminded Jenny of those first hours of his recovery.

They took him home and put him to bed, and there he lay, hardly speaking, and generally sleeping.  There he still was on the Monday, when Julius came to inquire after him, and was taken up-stairs at once by Jenny, with the greeting, “So the son and heir is come, Julius?”

“Yes, and I never saw my mother more exulting.  When Rosamond ran down to tell her, she put her arms round her neck and cried.  She who never had a tear through all last year.  I met your father and mother half-way, and they told me I might come on.”

“I think nothing short of such news would have made mamma leave this boy,” said Jenny; “but she must have her jubilee with Mrs. Poynsett.”

“And I’m quite well,” said Herbert, who had been grasping Julius’s hand, with a wonderful look in his eyes; “yes, really—­the doctor said so.”

“Yes, he did,” said Jenny, “only he said we were to let him alone, and that he was not to get up till he felt quite rested.”

“And I shall get up to dinner,” said Herbert, so sleepily, that Julius doubted it.  “I hope to come back before Sunday.”

“What does your doctor say to that?”