"It is of secondary importance whether she was pleased or not. My object in returning was twofold: to help you, and also for the sake of my own character. I begin to see that unless I am careful I shall become as selfish as father." Magdalen did not answer. "The aunts never do things like other people," continued Bessie. "I found Aunt Aggie standing, eating a bun, just outside the drawing-room door. She was quite flurried when I came up, and said she wanted to see my fossils, but would rather look at them another day." CHAPTER X La vie est un instrument dont on commence toujours par jouer faux. Wentworth and Fay did not follow Colonel Bellairs and Magdalen back to the house. When they reached the end of the avenue they turned back silently by mutual consent, and retraced their steps down it. Presently they reached the trunk of the tree where Fay had been sitting with Magdalen. Fay sank down upon it once more, white and exhausted. He sat down at a little distance from her. "How is Michael?" she said at last, twisting her ungloved hands together. "I came to tell you about him; I only got back last night. I knew you would wish to hear." "How is he?" "He has been ill. He has had double pneumonia. It started with hæmorrhage, and some of the blood got into the lungs, and caused pneumonia. He is better now, nearly well, in fact. The prison doctor seemed a sensible man, and he spoke as if he were interested in Michael. From what he said I gathered that he did not think Michael would survive another winter there. The prison[1] stands in a sort of marsh. It is a very good place to prevent prisoners escaping, but not a good place for them to keep alive in. The doctor is pressing to have Michael moved. He thinks he might do better at the 'colonia agricola,' where the labour is more agricultural; or that even work in the iron mines of Portoferriao would try his constitution less than the swamp where he now is." [Footnote 1: The prison described has no counterpart in real life.] "Was he still in chains?" "No. And the doctor said there was some talk of abolishing them altogether. If not, he will be obliged to go back to them now he is better. He is looking forward to the sea lavender coming out. He says the place is beautiful beyond words when it is in flower: whole tracts and tracts of grey lilac blossom in the shallows, and hordes of wild birds. He asked me to tell you that you were to think of him as living in fairyland." Fay winced as if struck. "You gave him my message?" she stammered. "Of course I did. And he said I was to tell you not to grieve for him, for he was well and happy." "Happy!" echoed Fay. "Yes, happy. He said he had committed a great sin, but that he hoped and believed that he was now expiating it, and that it would be forgiven." "I am absolutely certain," said Fay in a suffocated voice, "that Michael did not murder the Marchese di Maltagliala." "That is impossible," said Wentworth.