recipient and his family.
Samuel spoke with his wonted magnanimity; his father took a liberal view
of the matter. And in writing to her friend a few days later, Jessica
was able to say: 'I think you may safely stay at Falmouth for the whole
winter. You will not be interfered with if you write nicely. I shouldn't
wonder if they would let you keep out of their reach _as long as it is
necessary_.'

The week of Jessica's ordeal was now at hand. She had had another
fainting-fit; her sleep was broken every night with hideous dreams; she
ate scarce enough to keep herself alive; a perpetual fever parched her
throat and burned at her temples.

On the last day of 'cram,' she sat from morning to night in her
comfortless little bedroom, bending over the smoky fire, reading
desperately through a pile of note-books. The motive of vanity no
longer supported her; gladly she would have crept away into a life of
insignificance; but the fee for the examination was paid, and she must
face the terrors, the shame, that waited her at Burlington House. No
hope of 'passing.' Perhaps at the last moment a stroke of mortal illness
would come to her relief.

Not so. She found herself in the ghastly torture-hall, at a desk on
which lay sheets of paper, not whiter than her face. Somebody gave her
a scroll, stereotyped in imitation of manuscript--the questions to be
answered. For a quarter of an hour she could not understand a word. She
saw the face of Samuel Barmby, and heard his tones--'The delicacy of a
young lady's nervous system unfits her for such a strain.'

That evening she went home with a half-formed intention of poisoning
herself.

But the morrow saw her seated again before another scroll of stereotype,
still thinking of Samuel Barmby, still hearing his voice. The man was
grown hateful to her; he seemed to haunt her brain malignantly, and to
paralyse her hand.

Day after day in the room of torture, until all was done. Then upon her
long despair followed a wild, unreasoning hope. Though it rained, she
walked all the way home, singing, chattering to herself, and reached the
house-door without consciousness of the distance she had traversed. Her
mother and sister came out into the hall; they had been watching for
her.

'I did a good paper to-day--I think I've passed after all--yes, I feel
sure I've passed!'

'You look dreadful,' exclaimed Mrs. Morgan. 'And you're wet through--'

'I did a good paper to-day--I feel sure I've passed!