nction this scheme?" the steward asked. "Do
not you see its difficulties? Are fortunes to be found now as in
nursery tales? And at the bar, of all ways? Even in my narrow
experience, what failures have I known! and with fairer prospects than
Mr. Randolph's. It is a lottery, Mr. Riches; a mere lottery."

"It is not the chance of a prize," said the chaplain, "upon which I
reckon. I hate lotteries. It is the price which must in this instance
be paid for a chance, and which I believe Randolph is prepared to pay,
that reconciles me to the speculation."

"You mean the labour bestowed and the knowledge acquired," observed
Griffith. "Is it of the best kind? Might not better be obtained here?"

"You interpret my meaning rightly but not completely, Mr. Griffith,"
the chaplain said. "I include in the term knowledge, knowledge of the
world; that knowledge, without which we cannot love the world. A
recluse may fancy that he loves his race, but it is not until he has
actually felt their kindness, ay, and their unkindness, that he can
realize the affection. A man is worthless until he has experienced
some of the buffeting of the world."

"And do you think Mr. Randolph qualified to withstand it to
advantage?" the steward inquired.

"Do I, Mr. Griffith?" exclaimed Polydore. "I should take shame to
myself if I did not. He may not succeed at the bar. He may return to
Trevethlan Castle as poor as he quits it. As poor, I mean, in worldly
goods. But he will return to enjoy life: not to mope away a miserable
time of idleness amongst these gray walls: not to pine for what is
unattainable, and sicken with ever-increasing discontent: not to
vanish from the stage an unprofitable supernumerary. No, the habits he
will have acquired will accompany him in his retreat; in his solitude
he will still be active; he will give his thoughts to the world; he
will be a benefactor to his race. Let him go, Mr. Griffith. The very
chivalry of the idea is charming in my eyes. Believe me, his portrait
will one day be an honour to our gallery."

The steward was infected with Polydore's enthusiasm. He shook the
chaplain's hand with great warmth.

"Mr. Riches," he said, "I know how much Trevethlan owes to you; and
your words inspire me with hope. Yet, Miss Helen, is the scheme
equally adapted for her?"

"And why not, my good sir?" answered the chaplain. "Where can she be
better than with her brother? What can cheer his studies, no trifle,
Mr. Griffith, like