There was no answer, and Godfrey bethinking himself that cold water was supposed to be an appropriate remedy for sudden ailments, plunged his sponge into the water-jug, and soused it on his brother's head. It was so far effectual that Guy began to fetch his breath again, in long sobbing gasps, while Godfrey, to his increased horror, felt that there were tears on the face that was pressed against his hand. "Oh, I say, Guy! I say--what is making you such an awful duffer? What _is_ the matter with you?" Poor Guy shivered and trembled, perhaps not finding Godfrey's method very helpful; but he came more to himself by degrees, asked for some water to drink, and pulled the coverings round him. "Didn't you see--him?" he whispered at last. "See--see what? Oh, I say! Guy, you haven't been dreaming of the ghost? Oh, I say! how can you be such a duffer! You're as bad as when you used to climb into my crib, and Auntie Waynflete whipped you, after that nursemaid made the bogie and scared you." What difference it might have made to Guy Waynflete if, at that moment of terrible experience he had had some comprehending friend to soothe and sustain him, it is impossible to say; as it was, his boyish pride and self-consciousness began to revive, under his brother's rough dealing; he made an effort to pull himself together, laughed in an odd, startling way, and said-- "Dreaming! Yes, of course I was dreaming. Don't you ever say one word about it." "Not I," said Godfrey. "A nice story it would be to get about. Now, am I to go into your room, and sleep with the ghost? It's getting chilly." Guy raised himself on his arm, and stared out into the moonlight. "No," he said, "I'll go back myself. You'll never hear another word about it." He got up, still tremulously, and went away, _shutting the door_ behind him. Godfrey was but a boy, with all the callous stupidity of his sixteen years. He thought that the incident had been very odd, and rather disgraceful to Guy's manhood. He was glad it was over, and he tumbled back into bed again, and went to sleep. Guy looked much paler than usual the next morning, but confessed to nothing amiss. As he went out with the others to join in trying the new tennis-ground, he saw Florella, standing a little apart from the others, evidently just getting over a fit of crying. "I say--can I help you about anything?" he said, good naturedly. "No," said Florella, turning upon him a pair of translucent eyes, almost as steadfast as Constancy's, and even more candid. "I--I--I've been helping to do something wrong--that's all." She ran away before he could speak; but, surprised as he was, there remained in his mind the feeling that somehow she was a nice little girl.