That secret help had been discovered long since by her. Of her own searching it had come, and then, one day she had picked up one of her husband's favourite books and had read of this very habit she had acquired. "Inglesant found that repeating the name of Jesus simply in the lonely nights kept his brain quiet when it was on the point of distraction, being of the same mind as Sir Charles Lucas when 'Many times calling upon the sacred name of Jesus,' he was shot dead at Colchester." The spiritual telegraphy that goes on between Earth and Heaven, from God to His Saints is by no means understood by the World. "You old duffer," Mary said. "Really, you are a perfect blighter--as you so often call me! Haven't you just been boasting about feeling so much better? And, fat wretch! am I not doing everything possible for you. _Of course_ I've talked you over with the doctor. We're going to make you right! We're going to make you slim and beautiful once more. My dear thing! it's all arranged and settled. Don't bubble like a frog! Don't look at your poor Missis as if she were a nasty smell! It's no use, Gillie dear, we've got you now!" No momentary ill-humour could stand against this. He was, after all, quite dependent upon the lady with the golden hair who was sitting upon his bed. And it was with no more Oriental complacence, but with a very humble-minded reverence, that the poet drew his wife to him and kissed her once more. ". . . But I may have a cigarette, Molly?" "Of course you may, if you want one. It was only a general sort of remark that the doctor made. A few cigarettes can't harm any one. Don't I have two every day myself--since you got me into the habit? But you've been smoking fifty a day, for _weeks_ before you went to town." "Oh, Molly! What utter rot! I _never_ have!" "But you _have_, Gilbert. You smoke the Virginian ones in the tins of fifty. You always have lots of tins, but you never think how they come into the house. I order them from the grocer in Wordingham. They're put down in the monthly book--so you see I _know_!" "Fifty a day! Of course, it's appalling." "Well, you're going to be a good boy now, a perfect angel. Here you are, here are three cigarettes for you. And you're going to have a sweet-bread for lunch and I'm going to cook it for you myself!" "Dear old dear!" "Yes, I am. And Tumpany wants to see you. Will you see him? Dr. Morton Sims won't be here for another half hour." "Yes, I'll have Tumpany up. Best chap I know, Tumpany is. But why's the doctor coming? My head's healed up all right now." There was a whimsical note in his voice as he asked the question. "You know, darling! He wants to have a long talk with you." "Apropos of the reformation stakes I suppose." "To give you back your wonderful brain in peace, darling!" she answered, bending down, catching him to her breast in her sweet arms. ". . . Gillie! Gillie! I love you so!" "And now suppose you send up Tumpany, dear."