Dr. Joliffe, as puzzled as herself by the new turn of events, seconded her vigorously. He was sure, from the nature of the case, that his patient was still on very thin ice. But he was met now by a will of iron. Even if the heavens fell, Brandon had set his mind on going to town; yet he would not give a reason. The rueful Millicent had to order her trunks to be packed; moreover, she had to crave the shelter of the paternal roof in Hill Street for the peccant invalid until such time as he had done his business, whatever that business might be. Prophesying every kind of evil for her stubborn lord, Millicent motored with him to town on a cold, wet morning of mid-January. Her mood was one of inspissated gloom, yet as she came to reflect, in the warmth and comfort of the car, on Gervase’s state in relation to what it had been hardly more than a month ago, simple gratitude became the dominant emotion. She must never forget that several of the ablest doctors in the land had by that time given up his case as hopeless. It had been finally diagnosed as a nerve lesion whose baffling obscurity had proved too much even for modern therapeutic skill. A recovery was no longer hoped for, yet here was the sufferer sitting by her side in full possession of every physical and mental faculty. A miracle had happened beyond the ken of science, which it could only account for in the most general terms. A severe shock had stopped the clock in the first instance and medical science must now assume that a counter-shock had set it going again. Even if Gervase was presuming on the abundant mercy of providence, it was hard for a devoted wife to be really angry with him just now. For one thing he was a gay and joyful Gervase. As one who has known the nadir of the soul, he was now a giant newly risen and refreshed with strong wine. The universe was rare and strange; the secret hope at the core of every human life had been verified in a way to surprise the expectations of the wildest dreamer. The next morning he went to see Pomfret. As he set out for Half Moon Street the air was raw, the wind bitter, but he felt like an awakened sleeper walking in a new and wonderful world. Not again had he hoped to feel the London pavement under his feet; not again had he hoped to experience the thrill of the world’s metropolis. Somehow its old, drab streets put an enchantment upon him. He was fired as he had never been by their magic and their mystery. And now he had a power within which set him so miraculously in tune with the infinite that he saw new colors in the gray sky, the dull grass, the bare trees; he heard noble harmonies in the flowing air and the sharp wind. The great man, in a vivid chocolate breakfast suit, was dallying with a poached egg. “By all the gods!” he cried, rising with outstretched hands. “What brings you to town, my son?”