But in the Yule, O Yanna, Up from the round dim sea And reeling dungeons of the fog I am come back to thee! --BLISS CARMAN. Wentworth stood at the open window of the library watching Michael. Michael was lying on a deck chair on the terrace playing with a puppy. His face was losing a certain grey drawn look which it had worn since he had left prison. He looked more like himself since his hair had time to grow. Wentworth felt that he ought to be reassured about him, but a vague anxiety harassed him. Suddenly, without a moment's warning, the puppy fell asleep. Michael made a movement to reach it, but it was just beyond his grasp. In an instant Wentworth was beside him, lifting the sleeping mass of sleek fat on to Michael's knee. Michael's long hands made a little crib for it. "He will sleep now for a bit," he said contentedly. "Do _you_ sleep better?" said Wentworth. He had not forgotten those first nights at Venice when Michael's feeble step had dragged itself to and fro in the next room half the night. "I sleep like a top. I'm asleep half the time." "You are much better the last few days." "Oh! I'm all right." "All Hampshire has been to call. I knew you would be bored, so I did not let them disturb you." "Thanks." "Is there anyone you would like to see?" "No one that I know of." "No one at _all_?" Michael made a mental effort which did not escape Wentworth. "I should like very much to see--presently--if it could be done----" "Yes," said Wentworth eagerly. "Of _course_ it can be done, my dear boy. You would like to see?" "Doctor Filippi," said Michael, looking deprecatingly at Wentworth. "He was so good to me. And I am accustomed to seeing him. I miss him all the time. I wonder whether you would let him come and stay here for his holiday. He generally takes it in June. And--let me see--it's May now, isn't it?" Wentworth's heart swelled with jealousy and disappointment. The jealousy was of the doctor, the disappointment was about Fay. The larger of the two emotions was jealousy. "You have sent Doctor Filippi a very handsome present," he said coldly. "I chose it for you, a silver salver. I went up to London on purpose at your wish a week ago." "Y-yes." "And I don't think he would care to come here. No doubt he has his own friends. You must remember a man like that is poor. It would be putting him to expense." Michael looked down at the sleeping puppy. He did not answer. Wentworth was beginning to fear that his brother had an ungrateful, callous nature. Was Michael so self-absorbed--egotism revolted Wentworth--that he would _never_ ask to see Wentworth's future wife, the woman who had shown such unceasing, such tender interest in Michael himself. "I hoped there was someone else, someone very dear to me, and a devoted friend of yours, whom you might like to see again." Wentworth spoke with deliberation.