Christ's Hospital. How Fred's little sisters admired those yellow
stockings!--though it may be doubted whether they were not too warm a
colour for Fred's private taste. Fred was a Grecian by this time--a big
strapping fellow he looked beside Kester--with a freckled, intelligent
face and a mop of dark hair. He was a great favourite of Audrey's, and
she had once induced her mother to let him spend a fortnight at
Woodcote. Dr. Ross also took a kindly interest in him.

'Fred will make his mark one day. You are right, Michael,' he observed.
'He has plenty of brains under that rough thatch of his. He will
shoulder his way through the world. Christ's Hospital has turned out
many a fine scholar, and Fred does not mean to be behind them.'

Audrey bade good-bye to Michael somewhat reluctantly.

'You will follow us in ten days, will you not?' she asked rather
anxiously. 'Remember that London never suits you; you are always better
at Rutherford, and it will be such a pity to lose your good
looks--Scotland has done wonders for you. Percival was only saying so
this morning.'

'I shall be sure to come as soon as I have settled this troublesome
piece of business,' he returned cheerfully. 'Take care of yourself, my
Lady Bountiful, and do not get into mischief during your Mentor's
absence.'

But when the hansom had driven off, Michael did an unusual thing. He
walked to a small oak-framed mirror that hung between the windows, and
regarded himself with earnest scrutiny. He was alone; the two boys had
started off in an omnibus to the National Gallery, and Michael had
promised to lunch with a friend in Lincoln's Inn.

'My good looks,' he soliloquised. 'I wonder if my health has really
improved? She was right. I felt a different man in Scotland. I have not
felt so well and strong since that Zulu slashed me--poor devil! I sent
him to limbo. It is true the doctors were not hopeless; in time and with
care, if I could only keep my nerves in order--that was what they said.
Oh, if I could only believe them--if I could only feel the power for
work--any sort of work--coming back to me, I would--I would----' He
stopped and broke off the thread of his thoughts abruptly. 'What a fool
I am! I will not let this temptation master me. If I were once to
entertain such a hope, to believe it possible, I should work myself into
a restless fever. Avaunt, Satanas! Sweet, subtle, most impossible of
impossibilities--a sane man cannot be deluded. Good God! wh