Time went on. Kenrick returned to India, leaving his honour in Mr. Dulcimer’s hands. Miss Harefield’s money was to be paid back, and without loss of time. Kenrick’s lawyers and Mr. Dulcimer were to arrange the matter between them somehow; Kenrick did not care how; but the thing must be done. On that point Sir Kenrick was firmly resolved. The lawyers were as slow as most of their craft, and saw no reason why such a business as this should be precipitated. Mr. Dulcimer was the last man to hasten the movements of the lawyers. Happy in his world of shadows--now digging out the forgotten temples of Nineveh and Babylon--anon wandering with the lost tribes of Israel--he was apt to let the actual business of life slip out of his mind altogether. Mrs. Dulcimer had to remind him of everything, to tell him what bills he ought to pay, what people he ought to visit--all the details of his quiet life. Now Mrs. Dulcimer was not disposed to remind her husband of Kenrick’s desire to refund Miss Harefield’s fifty thousand pounds. She hoped that Kenrick might, by fair means or foul, be made to keep the money. He had been cruelly wronged. The least atonement that could be made to him was the liberation of his estate from its old burdens. Thus argued Mrs. Dulcimer, while Kenrick was busy fighting the Burmese. Before the bleak winds of March had ceased to blow their keenest across the wide waste of withered heather and sandy barrenness, before the last of the daffodils had faded in Mrs. Pomfret’s neat garden, Cyril Culverhouse had come back to his old place at Little Yafford. He had done good work at Bridford, but the work had been too much for him. He could not be content to do half the work wanted, and leave the rest undone. Another man in his position would have been easy in his conscience after doing a quarter of the good that Cyril had done in that crowded lazar-house; but the knowledge of unconquerable evils, of cures only half wrought, weighed upon Cyril’s spirits like an ever-present nightmare. He could not sleep for the thought of the evils round about him--the loathsome miseries--the rampant vices--the selfishness of the rich--the godlessness of the poor. His health broke down under the burden. This time it was no fierce attack of fever--no brain sickness and delirium,--but his strength went down like the sand in a glass when the hour is nearly done--appetite failed--the power of sleep left him, and Dr. Bolling told him, in plainest terms, that if he wished to go on living he must leave Bridford.