Nigel went out for an hour or two's work on the farm when evening fell. It seemed extraordinary that only some eighteen hours lay between him and the concert at the Bechstein Hall. That part of his life had been put aside--not for ever, perhaps, but none the less temporarily banished by a usurping present. Some day, no doubt, he would put on the last six months again, just as he would put on the dress clothes he had folded away, but now he wore corduroys and the last eighteen hours. At six the doctor called again. He shook his head at the sight of Leonard. "He must have a nurse," he said. "Oh, no ... for heaven's sake!" groaned Len. "Nigel and I can nurse him," said Janey. "My dear young lady, have you seen your own face in the glass?" Len raised himself with difficulty on his pillows. "Lord, Janey!--you look quite cooked up.... I say, old girl, I won't have it.... Doctor, I surrender." "I don't know whether I can send any one in to-night--but I'll try. Anyhow, to-morrow morning--now 'ninety-nine,' please." Nigel went over to East Grinstead for ice and fruit. Len was dreadfully thirsty all the evening. They put bags of ice on his forehead and sides, but it did not seem to cool him much. The doctor had left a sleeping-draught, to be administered the last thing at night. "If I take it," said Len, "will you two go to bed?" "Janey will," said Nigel. "I'll have a shake-down in here." "Well, it'll keep me quiet, I suppose ... so I'll take the beastly thing.... I want to sleep ... but I don't want to die.... I won't die, in fact." "Don't talk of it, old man." He lifted Len in his strong arms, and settled him more comfortably in the bedclothes. Then he gave him the sleeping-draught. The window was wide open, and one could hear the rain pattering on the lilac bushes. The wind, sweet-smelling with damp and hay, puffed the curtains into the room, then sucked them back. A fire was burning low on the hearth. Janey went and sat beside it. Nigel sat by the bed, for between sleeping and waking his brother suffered from strange fears. At last, after a few sighs and struggles, Len fell asleep, still high on his pillows, the lines of his face very tired and grim. There was a little light in the room, or rather the mingled lights of a dying fire and a fighting moon. Nigel rose softly, and went over to Janet. "You must go to bed." "No--I'd rather stay here." "You must have some sleep, or you'll be worn out." "I couldn't sleep." The words broke from her in a strangling sigh, and the next minute his arm crept round her, for he remembered Leonard's words. "Dear Janey ..." he whispered. She began to cry. For a moment or two he held her to him, helping her to choke her sobs against his breast. "Won't you tell me what it is?" "How do you know there's anything more than that?" and she pointed towards the bed. "Len told me." "About Quentin?..." "Quentin!" "Yes--I thought you said he'd told you."