He turned into the office, but it was with difficulty that he succeeded in giving any attention to his work; for in his mind’s eye he had the image of Michael, seated alone in his desolation in that wretched room, where the wretched scene of the morning had taken place. It seemed to Roger that the worst blow had befallen Michael which by any possibility could overtake him—which idea serves sweetly to illustrate his own extreme ignorance of life, and of the protean forms which calamity and misfortune can assume; also of the marvellously elastic nature of the human creature, and of that part of it, be it brain, or heart, or soul, or whatsoever it may in reality be, which suffers. Roger Camm, repeating to himself the half-forgotten Greek of his quotation about the goddess Calamity, never dreamed for a moment but that she had stayed her course. Surely her feet had pressed with sufficient weight upon the head which she had selected as her standpoint! Could his spiritual eye have pierced that veil, filmy, and yet dense, which envelops us as we move to and fro on this earth, and seen the guiding powers about Michael, he would have perceived still hovering amongst them a dark form with a woebegone countenance—her of the tender feet yet. He returned to Dr. Rowntree’s from his work, and, having no heart to amuse himself in any way outside, sat with a book, to which he gave but a divided attention, wondering the while whether Michael would go to Magdalen that night, or wait till the morrow; and wondering likewise whether she would be of any use to him in the crisis. ‘Gilbert would be a better spec. for her now,’ said Roger bitterly, within himself. ‘Only, not to blacken him more than is absolutely necessary, he never had the faintest fancy for her. In fact, I don’t believe he would take her with fifty thousand down.’ Towards ten o’clock Michael came in, greeted them both with great composure, took his accustomed chair, lighted his pipe, and made some few observations to them before they all went to bed. He made not the slightest allusion to what had taken place in the morning, and Roger did not choose or wish to break upon this reserve: the little doctor did not dare. He found, what he had never suspected before, that his adopted son had the power of holding him at arm’s length, and while he could not but admire what seemed to him Michael’s strength and self-possession, he was not quite happy at finding it thus, as it were, used against himself. This dry-eyed composure, this something indescribable in voice and glance, were, thought the doctor, magnificent, but they did not invite to the sentimental reflections of which he was longing to disburden himself. They separated at their usual hour, and no one complained the next morning of not having slept, though under Michael’s eyes there were ominous purple rings which told of his having enjoyed something less than perfect repose. Roger got a few words alone with him before breakfast.