It was not till his horse had turned the distant corner of the road, and was lost to view, that Arthur came in from the outer gate; and the distress and dejection of the youth were so plainly to be read in his countenance, that Katharine took him aside to ask what was the matter. He related to her the quarrel between Juxon and Sir Charles Lambert just as it had occurred. She heard it with more pain than surprise, for she was well aware of the unaltered nature of Sir Charles; and she knew that he cherished mean and vindictive feelings towards Juxon for his conduct at the time of his own ferocious assault on Cuthbert Noble, and for all his subsequent kindness and friendship to that injured student. On one account she very deeply regretted this occurrence. It could not fail to put a very serious obstacle in the way of that union between Jane Lambert and Juxon which she had just indulged herself with the hope she might soon have the happiness of seeing perfected at the altar. The reflections of Juxon himself, as he rode homewards, were of a complexion as varied as the face of an April sky. His thoughts were overshadowed by many a cloud of fear, and care, and coming sorrow, while ever and anon they became glad and bright as if coloured with blue sky and sunbeams, and the rainbow of hope. Notwithstanding his uncomfortable quarrel with Sir Charles, it was a day to be marked in his calendar with a white stone. The day was so hot, that he walked his horse leisurely all the way; and when he had gone about half the distance between Milverton and Old Beech, he pulled up near a water trough, under the shadow of a majestic old oak, and dismounted. There was a bank of earth round the trunk of the tree, on which he seated himself: his beast stood indolently still, after having dipped its nose in the trough; and both rider and horse luxuriated in the cool shade. The murmur of the spring that fed the trough was the only sound to be heard; and the loneliness of the spot, for it was in the middle of a common, suggested pleasing thoughts of gratitude for the human charity which had thus provided for the comfort and refreshment of man and his dumb companions in labour. By a natural train of associations the mind of Juxon was led to reflect on charity in its more high and heavenly signification, and on those works which it should produce. He considered what the earth would be if subjected to the law of love, and what it really was. He bethought him of the mission and office of the Prince of Peace: he remembered that he was a minister of that new and glorious covenant announced by the voice of angels in a heavenly melody,--“Peace on earth, good will towards men.” He mused upon the titles by which ministers are designated,--watchmen, shepherds,--and he was more than ever confirmed in his resolution to remain with his flock at Old Beech during the coming troubles. “‘The hireling fleeth,’” said he to himself, “‘because he is an hireling.’ Why was I