"I've heard papa make the same remark, uncle, and I shall always feel thankful to him for taking me so many pleasant trips through England, and if I ever have the good fortune to visit other countries I shall be able to make comparisons, and I don't think dear old England will lose much after all." "Quite right, Mary, stand up for your own native land, and be thankful that you are not being suffocated with the heat in India, nor subject in England to earthquakes, tornados, or storms, such as destroy cities, and terrify so often the inhabitants of the torrid zone." "Indeed I am thankful already, uncle, for I have heard Aunt Helen describe Indian storms, and the terrible heat, too often not to be glad I have a dear English home. Is the scenery round Oxford beautiful?" she asked after a pause. "It is rather flat, but very picturesque on the banks of the Thames, which runs behind Christchurch Meadows, especially in summer. Have you never been in Oxfordshire, Mary?" "No, uncle, but I have seen Windsor, that is the next county, so I suppose there is a similarity in the scenery." "A little, perhaps, but I will leave you to judge for yourself. And now, suppose you give us a little music." And thus the evening passed away, and we cannot wonder if in Mary's dreams were mixed up various subjects which had made that day so different to the quiet studious scenes of home. Next day they drove to the Kensington Museum, and afterwards spent a few hours at the Exhibition of the Royal Academy, the latter always a delight to Mary. And at a rather early hour she laid her head on her pillow full of joyous anticipations of the morrow's journey. Could she have foreseen the result of this visit would she have shrunk from it? We cannot tell. CHAPTER XVI. THE COMMEMORATION WEEK. Brightly shone the sun over the towers and pinnacles of the glorious old city as the train sped along between Didcot and Oxford. Down the High Street towards the railway station two gentlemen were walking slowly, one of them wearing the Master of Arts gown and the trencher cap; the other, though in plain clothes, had the bearing and gait of a soldier. Except the bright dark eyes and the clear olive skin there is very little in the tall manly figure and whiskered face to recall the Charley Herbert whom Edward Armstrong saved from an untimely death. His companion, who scarcely reaches to his shoulder, has no such personal attractions as his friend, but the keen eye, broad forehead, and intellectual, studious face, command at once respect and attention. "At what time is the train due?" asked Charles Herbert, taking out his watch. "12.30," was the reply. "Oh, then we have plenty of time to drop in at Queen's and asked Maurice about the boatrace. Hollo, old fellow, where are you going?" and the young officer looked at the offered hand of his friend with surprise. "I ought not to intrude upon your friends on the very moment of their arrival, Herbert, so I'll say good-by now."