It was the last day of the holidays, and Alexander was to come late in the afternoon--Fred’s best time in the day--to take his leave. All the morning Fred was rather out of spirits, and talked to Henrietta a good deal about his school life. It might have been a melancholy day if he had been going back to school, but it was more sad to be obliged to stay away from the world where he had hitherto been measuring his powers, and finding his most exciting interests. It was very mortifying to be thus laid helplessly aside; a mere nobody, instead of an important and leading member of a community; at such an age too that it was probable that he would never return there again. He began to describe to Henrietta all the scenes where he would be missing, but not missed; the old cathedral town, with its nest of trees, and the chalky hills; the quiet river creeping through the meadows: the “beech-crowned steep,” girdled in with the “hollow trench that the Danish pirate made;” the old collegiate courts, the painted windows of the chapel, the surpliced scholars,--even the very shops in the streets had their part in his description: and then falling into silence he sighed at the thought that there he would be known no more,--all would go on as usual, and after a few passing inquiries and expressions of compassion, he would be forgotten; his rivals would pass him in the race of distinction; his school-boy career be at an end. His reflections were interrupted by Mrs. Langford’s entrance with Aunt Geoffrey, bringing a message of invitation from grandpapa to Henrietta, to walk with him to Sutton Leigh. She went; and Aunt Geoffrey, after putting a book within Fred’s reach, and seeing that he and grandmamma were quite willing to be companionable, again returned to his mother. Mrs. Langford thought him low and depressed, and began talking about his health, and the present mode of treatment,--a subject on which they were perfectly agreed: one being as much inclined to bestow a good diet as the other could be to receive it. If his head was still often painfully dizzy and confused; if his eyes dazzled when he attempted to read for a long time together; if he could not stand or walk across the room without excessive giddiness--what was that but the effect of want of nourishment? “If there was a craving, that was a sure sign that the thing was wholesome.” So she said, and her grandson assented with his whole heart. In a few minutes she left the room, and presently returned with a most tempting-looking glass of clear amber-coloured jelly. “O, grandmamma!” said Fred, doubtfully, though his eyes positively lighted up at the sight. “Yes, my dear, I had it made for your mamma, and she says it is very good. It is as clear as possible, and quite innocent; I am sure it must do you good.” “Thank you! O, thank you! It does look very nice,” said Fred, gazing on it with wistful eyes, “but really I do not think I ought.”