One evening in spring, when the thrushes and blackbirds were anticipating the nightingales and tuning their ’prentice notes in the hedges—which had gained the purplish-red bloom, the herald of a flush of green—over the primroses looking pale and cold in the raw wind of the March twilight, after the golden shields of the celandines, which had kept their neighbours company with quite an exuberance of jollity in the morning sunshine, had collapsed, as early as the afternoon, into small tightly wrapped-up balls, encased in dim green envelopes, Oliver was startled by Fan’s walking like a ghost unexpected, unannounced, and all alone, into the mill-house parlour. It was too early in the season for evening strolls, and lately Fan had never been seen abroad without her husband. The same could not be said of Harry, who was often enough from home without his wife, and not quite so frequently, but still with tolerably constant recurrence during the winter, without his brother, whom he had learnt at last to shake off imperiously. There had come to be an unnatural divorce between light and shade, and day and night, neither faring well in the separation. For Harry, all by himself, drove his chariot of the sun, like another Phaëton, madly, and if he did not set the world on fire, his own eyes grew scorched and bloodshot, his lips parched, his hands palsied; the whole goodly springs of his manliness and kindliness were dried up and polluted with ashes, because of the burden of consuming fire he had laid hold of and would thenceforth try in vain to guide and control. As for Horace, he would slink away like a dog summarily dismissed by his master, withdraw into his corner to sit moodily there, and only start up on the distant sound of Harry’s clogged instead of winged footsteps. Oliver had seen Horace and Fan exchange furtive, miserable glances when Horace returned thus alone, and drew back into the greatest gloom which the little drawing-room afforded him. Then the pair would sedulously pretend to read and work while in reality their ears were on the stretch, and their hearts on the rack, till far on into the night. These two knew and trusted each other thoroughly by this time, though Oliver was certain the looks never passed into words. Wife and brother remained too loyal in their allegiance.