irit-drinking than
was at all good for him. Bad fever symptoms set in immediately, and
appearances became visible in the neighborhood of the wound, at which
the medical head shook ominously. In short, Zack was now confined to
his bed, with the worst illness he had ever had in his life, and with no
friend to look after him except the landlady of the house.

Fortunately for him, his doctor was a man of skill and energy, who knew
how to make the most of all the advantages which the patient's youth and
strength could offer to assist the medical treatment. In ten days'
time, young Thorpe was out of danger of any of the serious inflammatory
results which had been apprehended from the injury to his head.

Wretchedly weak and reduced--unwilling to alarm his mother by informing
her of his illness--without Valentine to console him, or Mat to amuse
him, Zack's spirits now sank to a far lower ebb than they had ever
fallen to before. In his present state of depression, feebleness, and
solitude, there were moments when he doubted of his own recovery, in
spite of all that the doctor could tell him. While in this frame
of mind, the remembrance of the last sad report he had heard of his
father's health, affected him very painfully, and he bitterly condemned
himself for never having written so much as a line to ask Mr. Thorpe's
pardon since he had left home. He was too weak to use the pen himself;
but the tobacconist's wife--a slovenly, showy, kind-hearted woman--was
always ready to do anything to serve him; and he determined to make his
mind a little easier by asking her to write a few penitent lines for
him, and by having the letter despatched immediately to his father's
address in Baregrove Square. His landlady had long since been made the
confidant of all his domestic tribulations (for he freely communicated
them to everybody with whom he was brought much in contact); and she
showed, therefore, no surprise, but on the contrary expressed great
satisfaction, when his request was preferred to her. This was the letter
which Zack, with tearful eyes and faltering voice, dictated to the
tobacconist's wife:--

"MY DEAR FATHER,--I am truly sorry for never having written to ask
you to forgive me before. I write now, and beg your pardon with all my
heart, for I am indeed very penitent, and ashamed of myself. If you
will only let me have another trial, and will not be too hard upon me at
first, I will do my best never to give you any more tr