"She is valuable indeed--so much judgment and activity," said Mr.
Ward. "I don't know what we should have done without her. But we
ought to have Mr. Richard--has no one sent to him?"

Alan Ernescliffe and Norman looked at each other.

"Is he at Oxford, or at his tutor's?" asked Mr. Wilmot.

"At Oxford; he was to be there to-day, was he not, Norman?"

"What o'clock is it? Is the post gone--seven--no; it is all safe,"
said Mr. Ward.

Poor Norman! he knew he was the one who ought to write, but his icy
trembling hand seemed to shake more helplessly than ever, and a
piteous glance fell upon Mr. Wilmot.

"The best plan would be," said Mr. Wilmot, "for me to go to him at
once and bring him home. If I go by the mail-train, I shall get to
him sooner than a letter could."

"And it will be better for him," said Mr. Ward. "He will feel it
dreadfully, poor boy. But we shall all do better when we have him.
You can get back to-morrow evening."

"Sunday," said Mr. Wilmot, "I believe there is a train at four."

"Oh! thank you, sir," said Norman.

"Since that is settled, perhaps I had better go up to the doctor,"