"I am to understand, then, that you approve of my plan?" Paul went on, after a short silence. "Cicely to stay here for the present--the house, I hope, is fairly comfortable--and then, when Ferdie is better, I to go down there and see what I can do; I have every hope of doing a great deal! Oh, yes, there's one more thing; _you_ needn't feel obliged to stay here any longer than you want to, you know; I can see to Cicely. Apparently, too, Miss Bruce has no intention of leaving her." "I shall stay, sir--I shall stay." "On my own account, I hope you will; I only meant that you needn't feel that you must; I thought perhaps there was something that called you home." "Calls me home? Do you suppose we do anything down there nowadays with the whole coast ruined? As for the house, Sabrina is there, and women like illness; they absolutely dote on medicines, and doctors, and ghastly talking in whispers." "Very well; I only hope you won't find it dull, that's all. The mine isn't bad; you might come out there occasionally. And the steamers stop two or three times a day. There's a good deal going on in the town, too; building's lively." "I am much obliged to you." "But you don't care for liveliness," pursued Paul, with a smile. "I am afraid there isn't much else. I haven't many books, but Kit Hollis has; he is the man for you. Queer; never can decide anything; always beating round the bush; still, in his way, tremendously well read and clever." "He appears to be a kind of dry-nurse to you," said the judge, rising. Paul laughed, showing his white teeth. He was very good-natured, his guest had already discovered that. The judge was glad that their conversation had come to an end. He could no longer endure dwelling upon sorrow. Trouble was not over for them by any means; their road looked long and dark before them. But for the moment Cicely and her child were safe under this roof; let them enjoy that and have a respite. As for himself, he could--well, he could enjoy the view.