"No, dear, I don't," she answered, glancing up and down the street.

"He must be out now. He should have come straight to us. Come away
from the window, my dear. We must not let the young monkey see how
anxious we are about him."

Kate sat down by the old man and stroked his broad brown hand with her
tender white one. "Don't be uneasy, dear," she said; "it's sure to be
all right."

"Yes, he is sure to pass," the doctor answered; "but--bless my soul,
who's this?"

The individual who caused this exclamation was a very broad-faced and
rosy-cheeked little girl, coarsely clad, with a pile of books and a
slate under her arm, who had suddenly entered the apartment.

"Please sir," said this apparition, with a bob, "I'm Sarah Jane."

"Are you, indeed?" said the doctor, with mild irony. "And what d'ye
want here, Sarah Jane?"

"Please, sir, my mithar, Mrs. McTavish, asked me if I wudna' gie ye this
letter frae the gentleman what's lodgin' wi' her." With these words the
little mite delivered her missive and, having given another bob,
departed upon her ways.

"Why," the doctor cried in astonishment, "it's directed to me and in
Tom's writing. What can be the meaning of this?"

"Oh dear! oh dear!" Mrs. Dimsdale cried, with the quick perception of
womanhood; "it means that he has failed."

"Impossible!" said the doctor, fumbling with nervous fingers at the
envelope. "By Jove, though," he continued, as he glanced over the
contents, "you're right. He has. Poor lad! he's more cut up about it
than we can be, so we must not blame him."

The good physician read the letter over several times before he finally
put it away in his note-book, and he did so with a thoughtful face which
showed that it was of importance. As it has an influence upon the
future course of our story we cannot end the chapter better than by
exercising our literary privilege, and peeping over the doctor's
shoulder before he has folded it up. This is the epistle
_in extenso_:--

"My Dear Father,

"You will be sorry to hear that I have failed in my exam.
I am very cut up about it, because I fear that it will
cause you grief and disappointment, and you deserve
neither the one nor the other at my hands."

"It is not an unmixed misfortune to me, because it helps
me to make a request which I have long had in my mind.
I wish you to allow me to give up the study of medicine
and to go in for commerce