e dreaded to
see health and spirits shattered for ever. They tried to devise change
of scene, but it did not seem possible just at present; and Margaret,
besides her fears for Norman, was much grieved to see this added to her
father's troubles.

At night Dr. May again went up to see whether Norman, whom he had moved
into Margaret's former room, were again suffering from fever. He found
him asleep in a restless attitude, as if he had just dropped off, and
waking almost at the instant of his entrance, he exclaimed, "Is it you?
I thought it was mamma. She said it was all ambition."

Then starting, and looking round the room, and at his father, he
collected himself, and said, with a slight smile, "I didn't know I had
been asleep. I was awake just now, thinking about it. Papa, I'll give
it up. I'll try to put next half out of my head, and not mind if they do
pass me."

"That's right, my boy," said the doctor.

"At least if Cheviot and Forder do, for they ought. I only hope Anderson
won't. I can stand anything but that. But that is nonsense too."

"You are quite right, Norman," said the doctor, "and it is a great
relief to me that you see the thing so sensibly."

"No, I don't see it sensibly at all, papa. I hate it all the time, and
I don't know whether I can keep from thinking of it, when I have nothing
to do; but I see it is wrong; I thought all ambition and nonsense was
gone out of me, when I cared so little for the examination; but now
I see, though I did not want to be made first, I can't bear not to be
first; and that's the old story, just as she used to tell me to guard
against ambition. So I'll take my chance, and if I should get put down,
why, 'twas not fair that I should be put up, and it is what I ought to
be, and serves me right into the bargain--"

"Well, that's the best sort of sense, your mother's sense," said the
doctor, more affected than he liked to show. "No wonder she came to you
in your dream, Norman, my boy, if you had come to such a resolution.
I was half in hopes you had some such notion when I came upon you, on
Far-view down."

"I think that sky did it," said Norman, in a low voice; "it made me
think of her in a different way--and what you said too."

"What did I say? I don't remember."

But Norman could not repeat the words, and only murmured, "Golden
hills." It was enough.

"I see," said the doctor, "you had dwelt on the blank here, not taken
home what it is to her."

"Ay," almost so