Parmenter went back from New York to his home, and spent a night writing a letter to Professor Lee, which was to reach him at Paris. When it was finished the young man read it over, and threw it from him in disgust. It sounded tame, formal, insincere. He felt that such a letter would fail of its mission. He tore it up and wrote another, but with no better success. He tried to write to Charley, but his heart and courage gave out in doing that. He knew that such desperate illnesses as Charley’s sometimes washed the soul clear and the mind free of everything that had stained and clogged it. Charley might no longer feel any need for his friendship. Parmenter perceived at last that such an offense as his could be explained, and apologized for only in person. Written lines were wholly inadequate. It needed the voice, the eyes, the spirit breathing through the words, to make them effective. He knew now that his confession and his plea must await Professor Lee’s return. Now and then he heard indirectly from the travelers. They had been in Berlin, in Vienna, Moscow, St. Petersburg, Copenhagen. The next winter they wrote from Florence, and afterward they journeyed through the Holy Land. Charley was gaining every day in health and strength; still they were not ready to return. Parmenter waited with all patience and in all hope. He devoted himself to his studies; he worked at his college tasks with the strength and earnestness of an enthusiast. He regained his former position in the class. His old, cordial manner came back to him. He was once more a favorite and leader among his fellow-students. The experiences, the follies, the remorse, the suffering, of that second college year had turned the channel of his life and thought, and he stood on the threshold of a broad, earnest, and sincere manhood. Two years went by, and Commencement was at hand again. Parmenter’s class was to graduate, and Parmenter himself was to have the valedictory. All deemed it certain that he would carry off the lion’s share of the honors of Commencement Day. There was no better speaker in the class than he, and the first prize in oratory was sure to fall to him. There was no quicker and more logical thinker in debate. The big Dobell prize was conceded to him in advance. So far as the essays were concerned, no one hoped to surpass him. In class standing it had long been known that he was first. Commencement Day was sure to be a great day, and a succession of triumphs, for Parmenter. “There’s only one thing that will give any of the rest of us a chance,” said Robinson to him, banteringly; “and that is for you to get into a cane rush and break your collar-bone again; and if you could manage also to fracture two or three ribs while you’re about it, you would confer a lasting debt of gratitude on your disconsolate classmates.”