"Ah, Guy--here you are," he said. "Getting rested? I should think you wanted some tea." There was a little bustle, and the tea-things were brought with a lamp, and in the talk that followed, Florella learned more of how things were going at Ingleby. Godfrey had returned to Oxford; Mrs Joshua Palmer and Jeanie were to stay on at the Mill House for the present; and Guy meant to go back there as soon as he had seen the doctor, and Cuthbert was claimed by his work. "He has much business on hand," Staunton told her aside; "but I cannot think how he will get on in that dull house. I wish the doctor would insist on sending him abroad. But he wouldn't go; his heart is set on his work." "Then I think the work is best for him," said Florella. "Yes, one can't interfere. But it is a frightful risk. I believe he'll kill himself over it." Cuthbert spoke with some irritation. He was very anxious, and his wise resolve was hard to keep. Florella's heart sank. She might lend Guy her strength for the battle, but she could not save him from a single blow. They asked her to dim with them quietly on the next night, and she gladly promised to come. She would hear a little more. When she came, Guy seemed better. He sat by her at dinner, and joined in the cheerful trivial talk, with a look of ease and pleasure. They said nothing special to each other, there was hardly the ordinary consciousness of mutual attraction between them, yet she was happy, and he for once at rest. After dinner there was music, and as Kitty Staunton played softly, and they listened to it together, Guy watched her gracious harmonious outlines, and felt glad that her dress, though long and ruffed, with a broad silk sash, quite unlike the linen frock she had worn at Moorhead, was still of a soft tender blue. It still suggested the harebells. He said nothing more about himself; indeed he forgot himself and thought of her. He wished her good night with a smile, and a long, steady look, as if he was drinking in the comfort of her presence. It never occurred to him for a moment that the help she gave him was at the cost of suffering to herself. He did not understand that a star must burn before it can shine. But when he went upstairs, and looked steadily round to face his enemy in a new place, he woke to the sense that, through all the evening he had never seen or dreaded him. The fear had been forgotten. With the first thought the strange thing was before him; but just then, he looked with indifferent curiosity. He had told his own story to the doctor, and had heard in return that he would risk his life by over-exertion, or by any mental shock or strain; and that rest, change, and amusement were by far the most likely cure for the nervous affection that troubled him, and for every other tendency that he had cause to dread. "Still," said Guy, "there is no chance for me, but going back and doing what I can."