for another effort;" and so saying,
she embraced her friend, and they parted for the night.

The epistle which Kate had promised to conclude was in itself a
lengthy one--written at different intervals during the week before the
examination, and containing a minute account of his progress, his hopes
and his fears, up to that very moment. There was little in it which
could interest any but him to whom it was addressed, and to whom every
allusion was familiar, and the reference to each book and subject
thoroughly known--what difficulties he had found here, what obscurity
there--how well he had mastered this, how much he feared he might have
mistaken the other--until on the evening of the first day's examination,
when the following few lines, written with a trembling hand, appeared:--

"They say I shall gain it. H------ called my translation
of Horace a brilliant one, and asked the Vice-Provost to
listen to my repeating it. I heard. I gave it in blank
verse. Oh, my dearest uncle, am I deceiving myself, and
deceiving you? Shall I be able to write thus to-morrow
night?"

Then came one tremulous line, dated, "Twelve o'clock:"--

"Better and better--I might almost even now say, victory;
but my heart is too much excited to endure a chance."

"And it remains for me, my dear uncle," wrote Kate after
these words, "to fulfil the ungrateful task of bearing bad
tidings; and I, who have never had the good fortune to
bring you happiness, must now speak to you of misfortune.--
My dear cousin has failed."

She followed these few lines by the brief narrative Herbert had
given her--neither seeking to extenuate his errors, nor excuse his
rashness--well knowing in her heart that Sir Archy would regard the
lesson thus conveyed, an ample recompense for the honour of a victory so
hardly lost.

"It is to you he looks for comfort--to you, sir, whom his
efforts were all made to please, and for whose praise his
weary nights and toilsome days were offered. You, who know
more of the human heart than I do, can tell how far so
severe a discouragement may work for good or evil on his
future life; for myself, I feel the even current of
prosperity is but a sluggish stream, that calls for no
efforts to stem its tide; and were his grief over, I'd
rather rejoice that he has found a conflict, because he
may now discover he has