The next day he was much too exhausted and weak to talk about anything. He took what his sister brought him, smiled his thanks, and once put up his hand and stroked her cheek. But her heart was not gladdened by these signs of comparative composure, for what gave him quiet but the same that filled her with unspeakable horror? The day after that was Saturday, and George Bascombe came as usual. The sound of his step in the hall made her dying hope once more flutter its wings: having lost the poor stay of the parson, from whom she had never expected much, she turned in her fresh despair to the cousin from whom she had never looked for anything. But what was she to say to him?--Nothing yet, she resolved; but she would take him to see Leopold--for was he not sure to hear that the parson had been admitted? She did not feel at all certain that she was doing right, but she would do it; and if she left them together, possibly George might drop some good PRACTICAL advice, which, though spoken in ignorance, might yet tell. George was such a healthy nature and such a sound thinker! Was it not as ridiculous as horrible for any man to think he had a right to throw away his very existence, and bring disgrace upon his family as well, for a mere point of honour--no, not honour, mere fastidiousness! Leopold was better, and willing enough to see George, saying only, “I would rather it were Mr. Wingfold. But he can’t come to-day, I suppose, to-morrow being Sunday.” George’s entrance brought with it a waft of breezy health, and a show of bodily vigour pleasant and refreshing to the heart of the invalid. Kindness shone in his eyes, and his large, handsome hand was out as usual while he was yet yards away. It swallowed up that of poor Leopold, and held it fast. “Come, come, old fellow! What’s the meaning of this?” he said right cheerily. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself--lying in bed like this in such weather! Why ain’t you riding in the park with Helen, instead of moping in this dark room? You’ll be as blind as the fish in the cave of Kentucky if you don’t get out of this directly! We must see what we can do to get you up!” He glanced round the room, saw that Helen had left it, and changed his tone to a lower and serious one: “I say, my boy, you must have been playing old Harry with your constitution to bring yourself to such a pass! By Jove! this will never do! You must turn over a new leaf, you know. That sort of thing never pays. The game’s not worth the candle. Why, you’ve been at death’s door, and life’s not so long that you can afford to play ducks and drakes with it.” Thus he talked, in expostulatory rattle, the very high-priest of social morality, for some, time before Leopold could get a word in. But when he did, it turned the current into quite another channel. An hour passed, and George reappeared in the drawing-room, where Helen was waiting for him. He looked very grave.