He was waked from his thoughts by a knock and a voice at the door. He answered gruffly, and as he looked up he saw Katherine standing in the open doorway, letting in a stream of light from the lamp she carried in her hand. He stared at her stupidly, blinking at the light, and hid his face in his hands again. "I beg your pardon, Vincent. I knocked, and I thought you said 'Come in.' I came to see how you were; I was afraid you were worse." "I am worse. What's more, I shall never be better." She put her lamp on the chimneypiece and stood beside him. "Don't say that; of course you'll be better. Can we do anything for you?" "No; nothing--thanks." She moved back a little, and shaded the lamp with her hands. She was afraid to disturb him, but she did not like to leave him in his misery. How ill and wretched he looked in that abominable room! The lamplight showed her all its repulsive details. She had done her best for it; but in the last two months it had sunk back into something worse than its former ugliness, degraded in its owner's degradation. There was no trace now of the clever alterations and contrivances which she had devised for his comfort. The muslin curtains she had lent him were dark with smoke; the rug had slipped from the horsehair sofa; there were stains on the shabby tablecloth and carpet; and on the sideboard there was a sordid litter of bottles and glasses, pipes, tobacco-ash, and Hardy's hats. The floor was strewn with the crumpled papers and shoes that he had flung away from him in his fits of irritation. In the midst of it all she noticed that Mrs. Rogers had brought back all her terrible household goods, the pink vases, the paper screens, and the antimacassars--"To cheer him up, I suppose, poor fellow!" Hardy looked round as if he had read her thoughts. "You'd better leave me. This isn't a nice place for you." "It isn't a very nice place for anybody. You've let your fire go out. Come upstairs and get warm; we haven't seen you for ages." He shook his head sadly. "I can't, Sis, I'm much too seedy." "Nonsense! You will be, if you sit down here catching cold." She took up her lamp, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Come; don't keep me waiting, or I shall catch cold too." His will was in abeyance, and to her intense relief he got up and followed her. She was shocked at the change in his appearance when she saw him in the full lamplight of the studio. He was pitifully thin; his fingers, as he held out his hands to the blaze, were pale, even with the red glow of the fire through them. His eyes had lost their dog-like pathos, and had the hard look of the human animal. She got ready some strong coffee, and made him drink it. That, with the warmth and the unaccustomed kindness, revived him. Then she sat down in a low chair opposite him, with some sewing in her lap, so that he might talk to her or not, as he pleased. At first he evidently preferred to think; and when he did speak, it was as if he were thinking aloud.