uld not bear to see him pained.

"It is foolish," continued Dr. May, who felt it was the moment for
bracing severity. "It is rendering you unmanly. It is wrong."

Again Ethel made an exclamation of entreaty.

"It is wrong, I know," repeated Norman; "but you don't know what it is
to get into the spirit of the thing."

"Do you think I do not?" said the doctor; "I can tell exactly what you
feel now. If I had not been an idle dog, I should have gone through it
all many more times."

"What shall I do?" asked Norman, in a worn-out voice.

"Put all this out of your mind, sleep quietly, and don't open another
book."

Norman moved his head, as if sleep were beyond his power.

"I will read you something to calm your tone," said Dr. May, and he took
up a Prayer-book. "'Know ye not, that they which run in a race, run all,
but one receiveth the prize? So run that ye may obtain. And every man
that striveth for the mastery is temperate in all things. Now they do
it to obtain a corruptible crown, but we an incorruptible.' And, Norman,
that is not the struggle where the race is not to the swift, nor the
battle to the strong; nor the contest, where the conqueror only wins
vanity and vexation of spirit."

Norman had cast down his eyes, and hardly made answer, but the words
had evidently taken effect. The doctor only further bade him good-night,
with a whispered blessing, and, taking Ethel by the hand, drew her away.
When they met the next morning, the excitement had passed from Norman's
manner, but he looked dejected and resigned. He had made up his mind
to lose, and was not grateful for good wishes; he ought never to have
thought, he said, of competing with men from public schools, and he knew
his return of love of vain-glory deserved that he should fail. However,
he was now calm enough not to be likely to do himself injustice by
nervousness, and Margaret hid hopes that Richard's steady equable mind
would have a salutary influence. So, commending Tom's lessons to Ethel,
and hearing, but not marking, countless messages to Richard, he set
forth upon his emprise, while his anxiety seemed to remain as a legacy
for those at home.

Poor Dr. May confessed that his practice by no means agreed with his
precept, for he could think of nothing else, and was almost as bad as
Norman, in his certainty that the boy would fail from mere nervousness.
Margaret was the better companion for him now, attaching less intensity
of interest to Norman'