On her third visit, Charles Tyrrell was rapidly recovering, up, and dressed, and sitting at the door of the cottage. The surgeon had given a sort of half consent to his going to Harbury park on the following day, and to say the truth, there was not the slightest reason, as far as his own health was concerned, why he should not have done so. Mrs. Effingham, however, held a moment's conversation with the surgeon apart, and that gentleman's opinion seemed to be considerably changed thereby. He felt Charles's pulse some time after they were gone, shook his head gravely, and expressed doubts as to the propriety of his attempting the journey. Toward evening, when he returned again, after having been absent for some hours, he declared that he must not think of it; that there was a tendency to fever in his pulse, and various other signs and symptoms of not being so well, with which Charles's own sensations did not correspond in the least. He was persuaded, however, to submit, and it may scarcely be necessary to tell the reader, that the cause of all this was the health of Lady Tyrrell. The day on which Charles had first proposed to return, was the day on which the physicians had declared the crisis of her disease would take place, and on the following, day, Mrs. Effingham, who never shrunk from a painful task, and who undertook to tell Charles that his mother had been at the point of death, had the satisfaction of being enabled to add, that she was no longer considered in danger. Still the news agitated Charles Tyrrell a great deal, and he now felt how ill he himself had been. He was only the more anxious, however, to return home as speedily as possible, and on the following day, he arrived at Harbury park, and took up his post by the sick bed of his mother. Lady Tyrrell recovered very slowly, Charles saw little of his father: and the day of his coming of age, which was the second after his return, passed without mark or rejoicing in a gloomy and melancholy house. CHAPTER XVI. We must pass over a brief space with but a slight sketch of its events. Charles Tyrrell stole daily some time, to spend with Lucy Effingham, and the rest of his time was chiefly spent in the sick chamber of his mother. Of Sir Francis he saw but little. For several days, joy at his son's recovery, somewhat softened the temper of Sir Francis Tyrrell. But that amelioration soon wore off, and though Charles took an opportunity of telling him, simply and feelingly, how grateful he was for the kindness and anxiety he had shown respecting him during his illness, Sir Francis did not think him grateful enough, was piqued at the attention he showed his mother, alluded more than once with a sneer to what he called the cabal up stairs, and wondered when there would be a change in the ministry.