of the
competition.

It was a few days after these events that Julian received from Mr
Carden a pressing invitation to spend a Sunday with him at Harton. Glad
of a change, he easily obtained an exeat, and went down on the Saturday
morning. Even the half-year since he had left had made a perceptible
change in the old place. There were many new faces, and many old ones
had disappeared, so that, already, he began to feel himself half a
stranger among the familiar scenes. But alike from boys and masters he
received a kindly greeting, and Mr Carden entertained him with a
pleasant and genial hospitality. The only thing which pained him was
the obvious change for the worse in Mr Carden's health. He wore a
sadder expression than of old, and though he made no remark about his
health, yet every now and then his face seemed to be suddenly contracted
by a throb of pain.

On the Monday morning, when it was necessary for Julian to return to
Camford, Mr Carden called him into his study after breakfast, and asked
him to choose any book he liked, as a farewell present, from the
shelves.

"But why a _farewell_ present, Mr Carden?" asked Julian, laughing.
"Aren't you ever going to ask me to Harton again?"

"No," said Mr Carden with a sad smile, "never again.

"I resign my mastership at the end of this term," he continued, in
answer to Julian's inquiring look; "my health is so uncertain that I
feel unequal any longer to these most arduous, most responsible duties.
Perhaps, too," he added, "I may be a little disappointed in the result
of my labours; but, at any rate, though as yet few are aware of it, this
is my last month at Harton--so choose one of my books, Julian, as a
farewell present."

Julian expressed his real sorrow at Mr Carden's failing health. "If
you go away," he said, "it will seem as if the chief tie which bound me
to dear old Harton was suddenly snapped." He chose as his memento a
small volume of sermons which Mr Carden had published in former days,
and asked him to write his name on the title-page.

"Yes," said the master, "you shall have that book if you like; but I
mean you to have also a more substantial memorial of my library. Here,
Julian, this book I always destined to be yours some day; you may as
well have it now."

He took down from the shelves a richly bound copy of Coleridge's works,
in ten volumes, which Julian knew to be the one book of his library
which he most deeply prized. His marginal