"I'm not sure if he's gone up to bed. Come in, and I'll go and look." "Up to bed!" "Yes, he's feeling poorly. That's why he came home." "Poorly, what's the matter?" Joanna pushed past Nell into the house. "I dunno, a cold or cough. He told me to bring him some tea and put a hot brick in his bed. Sir Harry ain't in yet." Joanna marched up the hall to the door of Martin's study. She stopped and listened for a moment, but could hear nothing, except the beating of her own heart. Then, without knocking, she went in. The room was ruddy and dim with firelight, and at first she thought it was empty, but the next minute she saw Martin huddled in an armchair, a tea-tray on a low stool beside him. "Martin!" He started up out of a kind of sleep, and blinked at her. "Jo! Is that you?" "Yes. I've come over to tell you I'll marry you whenever you want. Martin dear, what's the matter? Are you ill?" "It's nothing much--I've caught cold, and thought I'd better come home. Colds always make me feel wretched." She could see that he was anxious about himself, and in her pity she forgave him for having ignored her surrender. She knelt down beside him and took both his restless hands. "Have you had your tea, dear?" "No. I asked her to bring it, and then I sort of fell asleep ..." "I'll give it to you." She poured out his tea, giving him a hot black cup, with plenty of sugar, as they liked it on the Marsh. He drank it eagerly, and felt better. "Jo, how good of you to come over and see me. Who told you I was back?" "I heard it from Milly Pump, and she heard it from Broadhurst." "I meant to send a message round to you. I hope I'll be all right to-morrow." "Reckon you will, dear.... Martin, you heard what I said--about marrying you when you want?" "Do you mean it?" "Of course I mean it--I came over a-purpose to tell you. While you was away I did some thinking, and I found that Ansdore doesn't matter to me what it used. It's only you that matters now." She was crouching at his feet, and he stooped over her, taking her in his arms, drawing her back between his knees. "You noble, beloved thing ..." The burning touch of his lips and face reminded her that he was ill, so the consecration of her sacrifice lost a little of its joy. "You're feverish--you should ought to go to bed." "I'm going--when I've had another cup of tea. Will you give me another, child?" "I've a mind to go home through Brodnyx and ask Dr. Taylor to call round." "Oh, I don't think I'm bad enough for a doctor--I catch cold easily, and I was wet through the other night." "Was it that!" Her voice shook with consternation. "I expect so--but don't fret, darling Jo. It's nothing. I'll be quite right to-morrow--I feel better already." "I think you should ought to see a doctor, though. I'll call in on my way back. I'll can in on Mr. Pratt, too, and tell him to start crying us next Sunday."