Then Lucy again, with no very great knowledge of the world or worldly things, expressed a hope which, under her situation at the moment, seemed strange, that Charles would set out for Oxford without fail on the following morning; and on pressing her on the subject, he found that this sudden desire for his absence proceeded from a fear that he should meet with Arthur Hargrave again, and that their quarrel should go to still greater lengths. She knew, indeed, that, in point of mere strength, Charles Tyrrell was so far superior to his antagonist, as had been that day proved, that the other was not likely to provoke him in a similar manner; but she feared more serious consequences still, and did not possess a sufficient knowledge of such transactions to show her that the distance of a hundred miles or more would make no difference in regard to the results she apprehended. Although Charles found it more difficult than he had imagined to quiet Lucy's apprehensions, yet he succeeded eventually in doing so, binding himself by promise to return to the University as soon as his father would permit him; and the question then became, whether he should go on to the manor-house, protecting Lucy by the way from all chance of farther annoyance, or she should return with him to Harbury Park. The former plan was adopted, and it were vain to say that they were not somewhat long on their way to the manor. The half hour, however, they thus spent was as sweet to the heart of Charles Tyrrell as it could be; for it gave him every assurance that man could receive from woman of the whole affection of Lucy Effingham being his. As they were just issuing out of the park and entering the grounds of the manor-house, however, Lucy paused for a moment and said, "Of course I must tell my mother." Charles himself could have wished for a little delay, being well aware, from what he had seen of Mrs. Effingham, that she would hold herself bound in honour immediately to make known the facts to Sir Francis and Lady Tyrrell. But, although the idea suggested itself of requesting Lucy not to mention the explanation which had taken place between them for a day or two, he could not make up his mind to ask one, from whom he trusted himself to meet unbounded confidence, to show any want of confidence to such a mother as hers. "I will go in with you, Lucy," he said, at length, "and tell your mother all that I feel upon the occasion. We run great risks by being frank and open in this business: I will not conceal from you, Lucy, that we shall most likely bring upon ourselves grief and anxiety for some time by such conduct; but neither will I ask you, on any account, to act otherwise. We must bear what we cannot prevent; and if Lucy loves me as I love her, we shall be happy in the end."