_I can’t tell you the sadness of to-day. I’ve thought about you most tremendously, and I think you must be gloriously proud of him. I felt angry at first, but now I feel all right. You’ve always been so stunning to me, and I’ve never thanked you. I do want to see you soon. I shall never forget saying good-bye to Captain Ross. Mother asked me to go and say good-bye to Lord Saxby. I don’t suppose you ever met him. He’s a sort of cousin of ours. But I did not want to spoil the memory of that day at Southampton. I haven’t seen poor old Alan yet. He’ll be in despair. I’m longing to see him to-morrow. This is a rotten letter, but I can’t write down what I feel. I wish Stella had known Captain Ross. She would have been able to express her feelings._ _With all my love,_ _Your affectionate_ _Michael._ In bed that night Michael thought what a beast he had made of himself that day, and flung the blankets feverishly away from his burnt-out self. Figures of well-loved people kept trooping through the darkness, and he longed to converse with them, inspired by the limitless eloquence of the night-time. All that he would say to Mr. Viner, to Mrs. Ross, to Alan, even to good old Chator, splashed the dark with fiery sentences. He longed to be with Stella in a cool woodland. He almost got up to go down and pour his soul out upon his mother’s breast; but the fever of fatigue mocked his impulse and he fell tossing into sleep. Chapter XII: _Alan_ M ICHAEL left the house early next day that he might make sure of seeing Alan for a moment before Prayers. A snowy aggregation of cumulus sustained the empyrean upon the volume of its mighty curve and swell. The road before him stretched shining in a radiant drench of azure puddles. It was a full-bosomed morning of immense peace. Michael rather dreaded to see Alan appear in oppressive black, and felt that anything like a costume would embarrass their meeting. But just before the second bell he came quickly up the steps dressed in his ordinary clothes, and Michael in the surging corridor gripped his arm for a moment, saying he would wait for him in the ‘quarter.’ “Is your mater fearfully cut up?” he asked when they had met and were strolling together along the ‘gravel.’ “I think she was,” said Alan. “She’s going up to Cobble Place this morning to see Aunt Maud.” “I wrote to her last night,” said Michael. “I spent nearly all yesterday in writing to her,” said Alan. “I couldn’t think of anything to say. Could you?” “No, I couldn’t think of very much,” Michael agreed. “It seemed so unnecessary.” “I know,” Alan said. “I’d really rather have come to school.”