s success than did Ethel; she was the more able to
compose him, and cheer his hopes.

CHAPTER XXX.

Weary soul, and burdened sore,
Labouring with thy secret load,
Fear not all thy griefs to pour
In this heart, love's true abode.
Lyra Innocentium.

Tea had just been brought in on the eighth evening from Norman's
departure, when there was a ring at the bell. There was a start, and
look of expectation. "Only a patient," said the doctor; but it surely
was not for that reason that he rose with so much alacrity and opened
the door, nor was "Well, old fellow?" the greeting for his patients--so
everybody sprang after him, and beheld something tall taking off a coat,
while a voice said, "I have got it."

The mass of children rushed back to Margaret, screaming, "He has got
it!" and then Aubrey trotted out into the hall again to see what Norman
had got.

"A happy face at least," said Margaret, as he came to her. And that was
not peculiar to Norman. The radiance had shone out upon every one
in that moment, and it was one buzz of happy exclamation, query, and
answer--the only tone of regret when Mary spoke of Harry, and all
at once took up the strain--how glad poor Harry would be. As to the
examination, that had been much less difficult than Norman had expected;
in fact, he said, it was lucky for him that the very subjects had been
chosen in which he was most up--luck which, as the doctor could not help
observing, generally did attend Norman. And Norman had been so happy
with Richard; the kind, wise elder brother had done exactly what was
best for him in soothing his anxiety, and had fully shared his feelings,
and exulted in his success. Margaret had a most triumphant letter,
dwelling on the abilities of the candidates whom Norman had outstripped,
and the idea that every one had conceived of his talent. "Indeed," wrote
Richard, "I fancy the men had never believed that I could have a clever
brother. I am glad they have seen what Norman can do."

Margaret could not help reading this aloud, and it made Norman blush
with the compunction that Richard's unselfish pride in him always
excited. He had much to tell of his ecstasy with Oxford. Stoneborough
Minster had been a training in appreciation of its hoary beauty, but the
essentially prosaic Richard had never prepared him for the impression
that the reverend old university made on him, and he was already, hear