phrase was often enough repeated in its neighbourhood. The studies
went round like a mighty wheel, and the young gentlemen were always
stretched upon it.

After tea there were exercises again, and preparations for next day
by candlelight. And in due course there was bed; where, but for that
resumption of the studies which took place in dreams, were rest and
sweet forgetfulness.

Oh Saturdays! Oh happy Saturdays, when Florence always came at noon, and
never would, in any weather, stay away, though Mrs Pipchin snarled and
growled, and worried her bitterly. Those Saturdays were Sabbaths for at
least two little Christians among all the Jews, and did the holy Sabbath
work of strengthening and knitting up a brother's and a sister's love.

Not even Sunday nights--the heavy Sunday nights, whose shadow darkened
the first waking burst of light on Sunday mornings--could mar those
precious Saturdays. Whether it was the great sea-shore, where they sat,
and strolled together; or whether it was only Mrs Pipchin's dull back
room, in which she sang to him so softly, with his drowsy head upon her
arm; Paul never cared. It was Florence. That was all he thought of. So,
on Sunday nights, when the Doctor's dark door stood agape to swallow him
up for another week, the time was come for taking leave of Florence; no
one else.

Mrs Wickam had been drafted home to the house in town, and Miss Nipper,
now a smart young woman, had come down. To many a single combat with
Mrs Pipchin, did Miss Nipper gallantly devote herself, and if ever Mrs
Pipchin in all her life had found her match, she had found it now.
Miss Nipper threw away the scabbard the first morning she arose in Mrs
Pipchin's house. She asked and gave no quarter. She said it must be war,
and war it was; and Mrs Pipchin lived from that time in the midst of
surprises, harassings, and defiances, and skirmishing attacks that came
bouncing in upon her from the passage, even in unguarded moments of
chops, and carried desolation to her very toast.

Miss Nipper had returned one Sunday night with Florence, from walking
back with Paul to the Doctor's, when Florence took from her bosom a
little piece of paper, on which she had pencilled down some words.

'See here, Susan,' she said. 'These are the names of the little books
that Paul brings home to do those long exercises with, when he is so
tired. I copied them last night while he was writing.'

'Don't show 'em to me, Miss Floy, if you please,'