Now even more friendly than before doth show; Who to his brother still remains a shield, Although a sword for him his brother wield; Who of the very stones against him cast, Builds friendship’s altar higher and more fast.” --Trench. Having left this matter happily settled, Dr. Harford rode back to Herefordshire, finding sad evidence on every hand of the truth of the Rector’s words, for though during the winter there was not so much fighting, the distress of the country people was even greater owing to the depredations of the soldiers on both sides, and the enforced contributions to maintain them in winter quarters. It was on a clear, bright day, early in February, that the Doctor, having dined at the house of a friend in Ledbury, rode along the frozen lane which led to Bosbury Vicarage, thinking he would at least inquire whether Hilary had returned from Whitbourne. The pretty village street was deep in snow, and the black and white houses with icicles fringing their dark eaves looked more picturesque than ever. Rime glittered on the trees in the churchyard, and frosted the ivy on the square brown tower of the church, while the steps round the cross, where long ago Gabriel and Hilary had rested, were thickly covered with a white, wintry carpet. By contrast the snug sitting-room in the Vicarage, with its blazing fire of logs, looked all the more warm and comfortable, and the Vicar’s hearty welcome left nothing to be desired. He was busy, as usual, with some of his beloved antiquities, and a sound of girlish laughter arrested the Doctor’s attention as he was ushered into the room. Hilary had returned and had brought with her, for a few days’ visit, her friend, Frances Hopton, of Canon Frome. The two girls sitting on an oak settle by the hearth made so fair a picture that Dr. Harford longed to transport Gabriel from his sick-room at the Manor to the Vicarage, while the Vicar, never dreaming that there had been aught but a boy and girl friendship between Gabriel and Hilary, inquired most minutely after his welfare. “I was right glad to hear of his escape from Oxford, though, as you know, I hold aloof from taking any part in our unhappy divisions. But ’tis grievous to me to think of one little older than Hilary cooped up in so cruel a prison.” “He hardly escaped with his life, sir,” replied the Doctor, “for the fever had carried off many of the prisoners, and he was worn out with trying to nurse the sick, and into the bargain was half starved; but, thanks to Sir Theodore Mayerne, he hath been brought back from the very gates of death. Gabriel himself ascribes the cure to your kindly message,” he added, glancing at Hilary, “and in truth I think it was the pleasure of hearing your words that recalled him when we thought him sinking fast.”