The morning after Wingfold’s second visit, Lingard, much to his sister’s surprise, partly to her pleasure, and somewhat to her consternation, asked for his clothes: he wanted to get up. So little energy had he hitherto shown, so weak was he, and so frequent had been the symptoms of returning fever, that the doctor had not yet thought of advising more than an hour’s sitting while his bed was made comfortable. And Helen had felt that she had him, if not safe, yet safer in bed than he could be elsewhere. His wish to rise was a sign that he was getting better. But could she wish him to get better, seeing every hour threatened to be an hour of torture? On the other hand, she could not but hope that, for the last day or so, his mind had been a little more at ease. Assuredly the light in his eye was less troubled: perhaps he saw prospect of such mental quiet as might render life endurable. He declined assistance, and Helen, having got him everything he required, left the room to wait within hearing. It took him a long time to dress, but he had resolved to do it himself, and at length called Helen. She found he looked worse in his clothes--fearfully worn and white! Ah, what a sad ghost he was of his former sunny self! Helen turned her eyes from him, that he might not see how changed she thought him, and there were the trees in the garden and the meadows and the park beyond, bathing in the strength of the sun, betwixt the blue sky and the green earth! “What a hideous world it is!” she said to herself. She was not yet persuaded, like her cousin, that it was the best possible world--only that, unfortunately, not much was possible in worlds. “Will you get me something, Helen,” he said. “Mr. Wingfold will be here, and I want to be able to talk to him.” It was the first time he had asked for food, though he had seldom refused to take what she brought him. She made him lie on the couch, and gave orders that, if Mr. Wingfold called, he should be shown up at once. Leopold’s face brightened; he actually looked pleased when his soup came. When Wingfold was announced, he grew for a moment radiant. Helen received the curate respectfully, but not very cordially: SHE could not make Leopold’s face shine! “Would your brother like to see Mr. Polwarth?” asked the curate rather abruptly. “I will see anyone you would like me to see. Mr. Wingfold,” answered Lingard for himself, with a decision that clearly indicated returning strength. “But, Leopold, you know it is hardly to be desired,” suggested Helen, “that more persons--” “I don’t know that,” interrupted Leopold with strange expression.