?"
asks
Jim
feverishly
,
chafing
at
the
idea
of
this
inaction
,
which
seems
inevitable
,
with
that
helpless
feeling
which
his
own
entire
ignorance
of
sickness
produces
.
"
Do
not
you
suppose
that
if
there
was
we
should
have
done
it
?
"
cries
Cecilia
,
rendered
even
more
uncomfortable
than
she
was
before
,
by
the
contagion
of
his
anxiety
.
"
We
are
to
keep
her
in
bed
—
there
is
no
great
difficulty
about
that
,
poor
soul
;
she
has
not
the
least
desire
to
get
up
;
she
seems
so
odd
and
heavy
!
"
"
So
odd
and
heavy
?
"
"
Yes
;
I
went
in
to
see
her
just
now
,
and
she
scarcely
took
any
notice
of
me
;
only
when
I
told
her
that
you
had
been
to
inquire
after
her
,
she
lit
up
a
little
.
I
believe
"
—
with
a
rather
grudging
smile
—
"
that
if
she
were
dead
,
and
someone
mentioned
your
name
,
she
would
light
up
.
"
A
sudden
mountain
rises
in
Jim
's
throat
.
"
If
she
is
not
better
to-morrow
,
Dr.
Coldstream
will
send
a
nurse
.
"
"
But
does
he
think
it
will
be
necessary
?
"
"
He
does
not
know
.
"
Jim
writhes
.
It
seems
to
him
as
if
he
were
being
blind-folded
,
and
having
his
arms
tied
to
his
sides
by
a
hundred
strong
yet
invisible
threads
.
"
Does
no
one
know
anything
?
"
he
cries
miserably
.
"
I
have
told
you
exactly
what
the
doctor
said
,
"
says
Cecilia
,
with
the
venial
crossness
bred
of
real
anxiety
.
"
I
suppose
you
do
not
wish
me
to
invent
something
that
he
did
not
say
?
"
"
Of
course
not
;
but
I
wish
I
had
been
here
—
I
wish
I
had
been
here
!
"
—
restlessly
.
"
Why
were
not
you
?
"
No
immediate
answer
.
"
Why
were
not
you
?
"
repeats
she
,
curiosity
,
for
the
moment
,
superseding
her
disquiet
.
"
What
prevented
you
?
I
thought
,
when
you
left
us
,
that
you
meant
to
come
back
at
once
?
"
"
So
I
did
,
but
—
—
"
"
But
what
?
"
"
I
could
not
;
I
was
with
Byng
.
"
"
With
Byng
?
"
repeats
Cecilia
,
too
genuinely
astonished
to
remember
even
to
prefix
a
"
Mr.
"
to
Byng
's
name
.
"
Why
,
I
should
have
thought
that
if
there
were
one
day
of
his
life
on
which
he
could
have
done
without
you
better
than
another
,
it
would
have
been
to-day
!
"
"
Were
not
you
rather
de
trop
?
"
chimes
in
Sybilla
's
languid
voice
from
the
sofa
.
"
Rather
a
bad
third
?
"
"
I
was
not
a
third
at
all
.
"
"
Do
you
mean
to
say
,
"
cries
Cecilia
,
her
countenance
tinged
with
the
pink
of
a
generous
indignation
,
"
that
you
were
four
—
that
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
stayed
in
the
room
the
whole
time
?
I
must
say
that
now
that
they
are
really
and
bonâ
fide
engaged
,
I
think
she
might
leave
them
alone
together
.
"
"
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
was
not
there
at
all
.
"
Then
,
seeing
the
open-mouthed
astonishment
depicted
on
the
faces
of
his
audience
,
he
braces
his
mind
to
make
the
inevitable
yet
dreaded
announcement
.
"
I
had
better
explain
at
once
that
neither
Mrs.
nor
Miss
Le
Marchant
was
there
;
they
are
gone
.
"
"
Gone
!
"
"
Yes
;
they
left
Florence
at
seven
o'clock
this
morning
.
"
There
is
a
moment
of
silent
stupefaction
.
"
I
suppose
,
"
says
Cecilia
,
at
last
slowly
recovering
the
power
of
speech
,
"
that
they
were
telegraphed
for
?
Mr.
Le
Marchant
is
dead
or
ill
?
one
of
the
married
sisters
?
one
of
the
brothers
?
"
Never
in
his
life
has
Jim
laboured
under
so
severe
a
temptation
to
tell
a
lie
,
were
it
only
the
modified
falsehood
of
allowing
Cecilia
's
hypothesis
to
pass
uncontradicted
;
but
even
if
he
were
able
for
once
to
conquer
his
constitutional
incapacity
,
he
knows
that
in
this
case
it
would
be
useless
.
The
truth
must
transpire
to-morrow
.
"
I
believe
not
.
"
"
Gone
!
"
repeats
Cecilia
,
in
a
still
more
thunderstruck
key
than
before
—
"
and
where
are
they
gone
?
"
"
I
do
not
know
.
"
"
Why
did
they
go
?
"
Jim
makes
an
impatient
movement
,
fidgeting
on
his
chair
.
"
I
can
only
tell
you
their
actions
;
they
told
me
their
motives
as
little
as
they
did
you
.
"
"
Gone
!
Why
,
they
never
said
a
word
about
it
yesterday
.
"
This
being
of
the
nature
of
an
assertion
—
not
an
interrogation
—
Jim
feels
with
relief
that
it
does
not
demand
an
answer
.
"
Gone
,
at
seven
o'clock
in
the
morning
!
Why
,
they
could
not
have
had
time
to
pack
their
things
!
"
"
They
left
them
behind
.
"
The
moment
that
this
admission
is
out
of
Burgoyne
's
mouth
,
he
repents
having
made
it
;
nor
does
his
regret
at
all
diminish
under
the
shower
of
ejaculations
from
both
sisters
that
it
calls
forth
.
"
Why
,
it
was
a
regular
flit
!
they
must
have
taken
French
leave
.
"
There
is
something
so
horribly
jarring
in
the
semi-jocosity
of
the
last
phrase
that
Jim
jumps
up
from
his
chair
and
walks
towards
the
window
,
where
Mr.
Wilson
is
sitting
in
dismal
idleness
.
Mr.
Wilson
has
never
cared
much
about
the
Le
Marchants
,
and
is
now
far
too
deeply
absorbed
in
his
own
trouble
to
have
anything
but
the
most
inattentive
indifference
to
bestow
upon
the
topic
which
to
his
daughters
appears
so
riveting
.
Jim
blesses
him
for
his
callousness
.
But
the
window
of
a
small
room
is
not
so
distant
from
any
other
part
of
it
that
sounds
cannot
,
with
perfect
ease
,
penetrate
thither
,
as
Jim
finds
when
Cecilia
's
next
eager
question
pursues
him
.
"
Did
Mr.
Byng
know
that
they
were
going
?
"
"
No.
"
There
is
a
pause
.
"
It
is
absolutely
incomprehensible
!
"
says
Cecilia
,
with
almost
a
gasp
.
"
I
never
saw
any
one
human
being
so
much
in
love
with
another
as
she
was
yesterday
—
there
was
so
little
disguise
about
it
,
that
one
was
really
quite
sorry
for
her
—
and
this
morning
at
cockcrow
she
decamps
and
leaves
him
without
a
word
.
"
"
You
are
mistaken
—
she
left
a
note
for
him
.
"
"
Poor
dear
boy
!
"
sighs
Sybilla
,
"
is
not
he
quite
prostrated
by
the
blow
?
I
am
not
apt
to
pity
men
generally
—
they
are
so
coarse-grained
—
but
he
is
much
more
delicately
strung
than
the
general
run
.
"
"
I
suppose
he
is
frightfully
cut
up
,
"
says
Cecilia
,
with
that
inquisitiveness
as
to
the
details
of
a
great
affliction
which
we
are
all
apt
to
experience
.
For
some
perverse
reason
,
inexplicable
even
to
himself
,
Jim
would
like
to
be
able
to
answer
that
his
friend
is
not
cut
up
at
all
;
but
truth
again
asserting
its
empire
,
he
assents
laconically
,
"
Frightfully
!
"
"
How
did
he
take
it
?
"
"
How
do
people
generally
take
such
things
?
"
The
impatience
of
the
key
in
which
this
is
uttered
,
coupled
with
the
implied
side-allusion
to
an
acquaintance
with
sorrows
of
a
somewhat
similar
nature
on
her
own
part
,
silences
the
younger
and
sounder
Miss
Wilson
for
a
moment
,
but
only
for
a
moment
—
a
moment
long
enough
to
be
filled
by
another
sighing
"
Poor
dear
boy
!
"
from
Sybilla
.
"
You
say
that
she
left
a
note
for
him
?
"
—
with
a
renewed
light
of
curiosity
in
her
eyes
—
"
have
you
any
idea
what
was
in
it
?
"
Jim
hesitates
;
then
,
"
Yes
,
"
he
replies
;
"
but
as
it
was
not
addressed
to
me
,
I
do
not
think
that
I
have
any
right
to
repeat
it
.
"
"
Of
course
not
!
"
—
reluctantly
;
"
but
did
it
throw
no
light
—
absolutely
no
light
at
all
—
upon
this
extraordinary
stampede
?
"
"
No.
"
"
Did
not
she
even
tell
him
where
they
were
going
?
"
"
No.
"
"
Nor
whether
they
were
coming
back
?
"
"
No.
"
"
Nor
ask
him
to
follow
her
?
"
"
If
she
did
not
tell
him
where
she
was
going
,
is
it
likely
that
she
would
ask
him
to
follow
her
?
"
cries
Jim
irritably
,
deeply
annoyed
to
find
that
he
is
,
by
the
series
of
negatives
that
is
being
forced
from
him
,
doing
the
very
thing
which
he
had
just
denied
his
own
right
to
do
.
"
It
is
the
most
incomprehensible
thing
I
ever
heard
in
my
life
.
I
wonder
"
—
with
an
air
of
even
alerter
interest
than
before
—
"
what
Mr.
Greenock
will
say
?
Perhaps
he
will
now
tell
what
he
knows
about
them
;
if
they
are
gone
,
there
will
no
longer
be
any
need
to
conceal
it
.
I
am
afraid
this
looks
rather
as
if
there
were
something
!
"
For
the
second
time
in
one
day
the
mention
of
an
amiable
flâneur
's
name
makes
Jim
vault
to
his
feet
.
"
Well
,
I
will
not
keep
you
any
longer
from
your
luncheon
,
"
he
cries
hastily
.
"
I
will
call
in
again
later
.
"
"
Are
you
going
?
"
asks
Mr.
Wilson
dully
,
lifting
his
head
from
his
chest
,
upon
which
it
is
sunk
.
"
Well
,
you
are
about
right
;
we
are
not
much
good
to
anyone
when
our
mainspring
is
gone
.
"
The
phrase
strikes
cold
on
Jim
's
heart
.
"
Are
you
going
back
to
the
poor
dear
boy
?
"
inquires
Sybilla
as
he
passes
her
.
"
By-the-bye
,
if
it
is
not
too
much
trouble
,
would
you
mind
tucking
the
Austrian
blanket
a
little
closer
in
on
the
left
side
?
"
and
as
he
stoops
to
perform
the
asked-for
service
,
she
adds
:
"
Let
him
know
how
sincerely
I
sympathize
with
him
;
and
if
he
wants
anything
quieting
for
his
nerves
,
tell
him
that
there
is
nothing
that
I
can
more
conscientiously
recommend
than
—
—
"
But
what
Sybilla
can
conscientiously
recommend
is
shut
into
the
closing
door
.
Outside
that
door
Jim
finds
that
Cecilia
has
joined
him
.
Anxiety
has
quite
banished
the
not
altogether
disagreeable
curiosity
of
five
minutes
ago
,
from
the
troubled
face
she
lifts
to
his
.
"
You
will
come
back
,
will
not
you
?
"
she
asks
.
"
You
are
not
of
much
use
,
I
suppose
;
but
still
,
one
feels
that
you
are
there
,
and
we
are
all
so
much
at
sea
.
You
have
not
an
idea
how
much
we
are
at
sea
—
without
her
.
"
"
I
think
that
I
have
a
very
good
idea
,
"
he
answers
mournfully
.
"
Tell
me
,
Cis
;
do
you
think
she
is
really
very
ill
?
"
As
he
puts
the
question
,
he
feels
its
irrationality
.
He
knows
that
the
person
to
whom
he
is
making
his
futile
appeal
has
already
given
him
all
the
scanty
tidings
she
has
to
give
;
yet
he
cannot
help
indulging
a
faint
hope
that
her
response
to
this
last
query
of
his
may
perhaps
set
Amelia
's
condition
in
a
slightly
more
favourable
light
.
A
look
of
helpless
distress
clouds
Cecilia
's
already
cloudy
face
.
"
I
tell
you
I
do
not
know
;
I
am
no
judge
;
I
have
seen
so
little
real
illness
.
Sybilla
would
kill
me
if
she
heard
me
say
so
,
would
not
she
"
—
with
a
slight
parenthetical
smile
—
"
but
I
have
seen
so
little
real
illness
,
that
I
do
not
know
what
things
mean
;
I
do
not
know
what
it
means
that
she
should
be
so
heavy
and
stupid
.
As
I
told
you
before
,
the
only
time
that
she
roused
up
at
all
was
when
I
mentioned
your
—
"
He
stops
her
,
breaking
rudely
into
her
sentence
.
He
cannot
bear
to
hear
that
it
is
only
at
the
magic
of
his
name
that
his
poor
faithful
love
lifts
her
sick
head
.
"
Yes
,
yes
;
I
remember
.
"
"
Some
one
ought
to
sit
up
with
her
,
I
am
sure
,
"
pursues
Cecilia
,
still
with
that
same
helpless
air
of
disquiet
;
"
she
ought
not
to
be
left
alone
all
night
;
but
who
?
I
should
be
more
than
willing
to
do
it
,
but
I
know
that
I
should
fall
asleep
in
five
minutes
,
and
I
am
such
a
heavy
sleeper
that
,
when
once
I
am
off
,
there
is
no
possibility
of
waking
me
.
I
am
a
dreadfully
bad
sick-nurse
;
father
can
never
bear
to
have
me
near
him
when
he
has
the
gout
.
"
Burgoyne
is
too
well
aware
of
the
perfect
truth
of
this
last
statement
to
attempt
any
contradiction
of
it
.
"
Amelia
has
always
been
the
one
to
sit
up
when
any
one
was
ill
,
"
continues
she
woefully
;
"
and
even
now
,
by
a
stupid
confusion
of
ideas
,
I
catch
myself
thinking
,
'
Oh
,
Amelia
will
sit
up
with
her
!
'
before
I
can
realize
that
her
is
Amelia
herself
.
"
Jim
can
well
sympathize
with
this
same
confusion
,
when
,
several
times
during
his
walk
back
to
the
Piazza
d'Azeglio
,
a
muddled
thought
of
comfort
,
in
the
idea
that
he
will
go
and
tell
Amelia
what
a
terrible
day
of
anxiety
about
some
one
he
has
been
having
,
taps
at
the
door
of
his
brain
.
The
portals
of
No.
12
are
once
again
opened
to
him
by
Annunziata
,
who
indicates
to
him
,
by
a
series
of
compassionate
gestures
and
liquid
Tuscan
sentences
,
that
the
povero
is
still
within
,
and
the
Padrona
,
who
this
time
also
appears
on
the
scene
,
and
who
is
possessed
of
somewhat
more
English
than
her
handmaid
,
intimates
,
albeit
with
a
good
deal
of
sympathy
for
his
sufferings
,
yet
with
still
more
of
determination
,
that
it
would
be
no
bad
thing
were
he
to
be
removed
,
since
,
whether
the
sun
shines
or
the
rain
falls
,
people
must
live
,
and
the
apartment
has
to
be
prepared
for
new
occupants
.
Anything
that
speaks
less
intention
of
removing
than
Byng
's
pose
,
when
his
friend
rejoins
him
,
it
would
be
difficult
to
imagine
.
He
is
stretched
upon
the
parquet
floor
,
with
his
head
lying
on
the
small
footstool
that
has
been
wont
to
support
Elizabeth
's
feet
;
her
rifled
workbasket
stands
on
the
floor
beside
him
,
while
her
bit
of
embroidery
half
shrouds
his
distorted
face
.
The
needle
,
still
sticking
in
it
,
may
prick
his
eyes
out
for
all
he
cares
;
the
book
she
last
read
is
open
at
the
page
where
she
has
put
her
mark
of
a
skein
of
pale
silk
;
and
the
yellow
anemones
,
that
he
must
have
plucked
for
her
yesterday
in
drenched
Vallombrosa
,
are
crushed
under
his
hot
cheek
.
But
outwardly
he
is
quite
quiet
.
Jim
puts
his
hand
on
his
shoulder
.
"
Come
away
,
there
is
no
use
in
your
staying
here
any
longer
.
"
As
he
receives
no
answer
,
he
repeats
the
exhortation
more
imperatively
,
"
Come
.
"
"
Why
should
I
come
?
Where
should
I
come
to
?
"
says
the
young
man
,
lifting
his
head
,
"
where
can
I
find
such
plain
traces
of
her
as
here
?
I
will
stay
.
"
He
says
this
with
an
air
of
resolution
,
and
once
more
lays
down
his
face
upon
the
footstool
,
which
,
being
entirely
worked
in
beads
,
has
impressed
the
cheek
thrust
against
it
with
a
design
in
small
hollows
,
a
fact
of
which
the
sufferer
is
quite
unaware
.
"
You
cannot
stay
!
"
cries
Burgoyne
,
the
more
impatiently
that
his
own
share
of
anxiety
is
fretting
his
temper
almost
past
endurance
;
"
you
cannot
stay
,
it
is
out
of
the
question
;
they
want
to
come
into
the
rooms
,
to
prepare
them
for
new
occupants
.
"
"
New
occupants
!
"
repeats
Byng
,
turning
over
almost
on
his
face
,
and
flattening
his
nose
and
lips
against
the
beaded
surface
of
his
stool
,
"
other
occupants
than
her
.
Never
!
never
!
"
It
is
to
be
placed
to
the
credit
side
of
Mr.
Burgoyne
's
account
that
he
does
not
,
upon
this
declaration
,
withdraw
the
resting-place
from
his
young
friend
's
countenance
and
break
it
over
his
head
.
It
is
certainly
not
the
temptation
to
do
so
that
is
lacking
.
Instead
,
he
sits
down
at
some
distance
off
,
and
says
quietly
:
"
I
see
,
you
will
force
them
to
call
in
the
police
.
You
will
make
a
discreditable
esclandre
.
How
good
for
her
;
how
conducive
to
her
good
name
.
I
congratulate
you
!
"
The
other
has
lifted
his
head
in
a
moment
.
"
What
do
you
mean
?
"
"
Do
you
think
,
"
asks
Jim
indignantly
,
"
that
it
is
ever
very
advantageous
to
a
woman
to
have
her
name
mixed
up
in
a
vulgar
row
?
And
do
you
suppose
that
hers
will
be
kept
out
of
it
?
Come
"
—
seeing
a
look
of
shocked
consternation
breaking
over
the
young
man
's
face
,
and
determined
to
strike
while
the
iron
is
hot
—
"
I
will
call
a
fiacre
,
and
we
will
go
home
to
the
hotel
.
Put
back
her
things
into
her
basket
.
What
right
have
you
to
meddle
with
them
?
You
have
no
business
to
take
advantage
of
her
absence
to
do
what
you
would
not
do
if
she
were
here
.
"
Byng
obeys
with
a
scared
docility
;
his
eyes
are
so
dim
,
and
his
fingers
tremble
so
much
,
that
Jim
has
to
help
him
in
replacing
Elizabeth
's
small
properties
.
His
own
heart
is
pricked
with
a
cruel
smart
that
has
no
reference
to
Amelia
's
illness
,
as
he
handles
the
departed
girl
's
spools
and
skeins
,
and
awkwardly
folds
her
scrap
of
broidery
.
Byng
offers
no
further
resistance
,
and
,
equally
indifferent
to
his
own
bunged-up
eyes
,
bead-marked
cheeks
,
and
dishevelled
locks
,
follows
his
companion
dully
,
down
the
stone
stairs
,
compassionately
watched
from
the
top
by
Annunziata
,
whose
heart
is
an
inconveniently
tender
one
to
be
matched
with
so
tough
a
face
.
They
get
into
the
fiacre
,
and
drive
in
dead
silence
to
the
Minerva
.
Arrived
there
,
Jim
persuades
his
friend
,
who
now
seems
prepared
to
acquiesce
meekly
in
whatever
he
is
told
to
do
,
to
lie
down
on
his
bed
,
since
the
few
words
that
he
utters
convey
the
fact
of
his
being
suffering
from
a
burning
headache
,
a
phenomenon
not
very
surprising
,
considering
his
late
briny
exercises
,
since
,
even
at
the
superb
age
of
twenty-two
,
it
is
difficult
to
spend
six
hours
in
banging
your
forehead
against
a
parquet
floor
,
in
moaning
,
bellowing
,
and
weeping
,
without
leaving
some
traces
of
these
gymnastics
on
your
physique
.
Burgoyne
stands
or
sits
patiently
beside
him
,
bathing
his
fiery
temples
with
eau-de-Cologne
,
not
teasing
him
with
any
questions
,
having
,
indeed
,
on
his
own
part
,
the
least
possible
desire
for
conversation
;
and
so
the
heavy
hours
go
by
.
The
day
has
declined
to
evening
before
Burgoyne
quits
his
protégé
's
side
to
dine
,
shortly
and
solitarily
,
previous
making
a
third
visit
to
the
Anglo-Américain
,
to
learn
the
latest
news
of
his
betrothed
.
He
had
left
Byng
still
stretched
upon
his
bed
,
apparently
asleep
,
and
is
therefore
the
more
surprised
,
on
returning
to
take
a
final
look
at
him
before
setting
out
on
his
own
errand
,
to
find
him
up
,
with
hat
and
stick
in
hand
,
evidently
prepared
for
a
walk
.
"
You
are
going
out
?
"
"
Yes
.
"
"
Where
are
you
going
?
"
The
other
hesitates
.
"
I
am
going
back
there
.
"
"
Impossible
!
"
"
But
I
am
,
"
replies
Byng
doggedly
;
"
it
will
not
do
her
any
injury
,
for
I
shall
not
attempt
to
go
in
,
I
shall
only
ask
at
the
door
whether
any
telegram
has
yet
been
received
from
—
from
them
;
they
must
telegraph
to
direct
where
their
things
are
to
be
sent
to
,
and
it
is
most
probable
that
they
have
done
so
already
.
"
"
It
is
most
im
probable
.
"
"
Well
,
at
all
events
,
it
is
possible
,
it
is
worth
trying
,
and
I
mean
to
try
it
.
"
There
is
such
a
fixed
resolution
in
his
voice
,
which
is
no
longer
quavering
with
sobs
,
and
in
his
ashy
face
,
that
Jim
offers
no
further
resistance
.
The
only
concession
he
can
obtain
from
him
is
that
of
permitting
him
to
accompany
him
.
"
You
will
not
mind
coming
with
me
to
the
Anglo-Américain
first
,
will
you
?
"
inquires
Jim
,
as
they
set
off
walking
across
the
Piazza
.
"
It
will
delay
us
quite
half-an-hour
,
"
answers
the
other
restlessly
.
"
But
stay
"
(
a
hazy
look
of
reminiscence
dawning
over
his
preoccupied
haggard
face
)
,
"
did
you
tell
me
that
Amelia
was
ill
—
or
did
I
dream
it
?
"
"
No
,
you
did
not
dream
it
,
"
replies
the
other
sadly
.
"
She
is
ill.
"
Perhaps
the
wretchedness
that
pierces
through
his
friend
's
quiet
tones
recalls
the
young
dreamer
to
the
fact
that
the
world
holds
other
miseries
than
his
own
.
There
is
at
all
events
something
of
his
old
quick
sympathy
in
his
next
words
,
and
in
the
way
in
which
they
are
uttered
:
"
Oh
,
poor
Amelia
,
I
am
sorry
!
By
all
means
let
us
go
at
once
and
ask
after
her
.
Is
there
nothing
that
we
can
get
?
—
nothing
that
we
can
do
for
her
?
"
It
is
the
question
that
Jim
,
in
baffled
anxiety
,
puts
when
he
is
admitted
inside
the
dull
salon
,
where
no
love-glorified
,
homely
face
to-night
lights
up
the
tender
candles
of
its
glad
eyes
,
from
over
its
stitching
,
at
his
entry
.
Sybilla
is
lying
less
comfortably
than
usual
on
her
sofa
,
her
cushions
not
plumped
up
,
and
her
bottle
of
smelling-salts
rolled
out
of
her
reach
.
Mr.
Wilson
is
walking
uneasily
up
and
down
the
room
,
instead
of
sitting
placidly
in
his
chair
,
with
the
soothing
voice
—
which
he
had
always
thought
as
much
to
be
counted
on
,
and
as
little
to
be
particularly
thankful
for
,
as
the
air
that
fills
his
lungs
—
lullingly
reading
him
to
sleep
.
"
Cecilia
is
with
her
just
now
,
"
he
says
,
in
a
voice
of
forlorn
irritation
.
"
I
wish
she
would
come
down
again
;
I
have
no
great
opinion
of
Cecilia
as
a
sick-nurse
,
and
she
must
know
how
anxious
we
are
.
"
A
moment
later
,
still
pursuing
his
fidgety
ramble
from
wall
to
wall
,
and
exclaiming
peevishly
,
as
he
stumbles
over
a
footstool
:
"
If
it
would
only
declare
itself
!
There
seems
to
be
nothing
to
lay
hold
of
,
we
are
so
completely
in
the
dark
—
if
it
would
only
declare
itself
!
"
A
not
very
subdued
sob
from
the
sofa
is
the
only
answer
he
gets
,
an
answer
which
evidently
irritates
still
further
his
fretted
nerves
.
"
I
cannot
think
what
Cecilia
is
doing
!
"
he
cries
,
hastening
to
the
door
,
opening
it
noisily
,
and
then
listening
.
"
Let
me
run
up
and
see
,
"
says
Jim
,
his
heart
going
out
to
the
fractious
old
man
in
a
sympathy
of
suffering
.
"
Yes
,
I
know
where
her
room
is
—
au
troisième
,
is
not
it
?
"
(
a
flash
of
recollection
lighting
up
the
fact
that
Amelia
's
is
distinctly
the
worst
room
of
the
suite
occupied
by
the
Wilson
family
;
the
room
with
most
stairs
to
climb
to
,
and
least
accommodation
when
you
reach
it
)
.
"
I
will
knock
quite
gently
.
Do
not
be
afraid
,
I
will
not
disturb
her
,
and
I
will
come
down
immediately
to
tell
you
.
"
Without
waiting
for
permission
,
he
springs
up
the
stairs
,
and
,
standing
on
the
landing
,
taps
cautiously
on
the
closed
door
,
whose
number
(
by
one
of
those
quirks
of
memory
that
furnish
all
our
minds
with
insignificant
facts
)
he
has
recollected
.
His
first
knock
is
so
superfluously
soft
that
it
is
evidently
inaudible
within
,
since
no
result
follows
upon
it
.
His
second
,
a
shade
louder
,
though
still
muffled
by
the
fear
of
breaking
into
some
little
fitful
yet
salutary
sleep
,
brings
Cecilia
out
.
His
first
glance
at
her
face
shows
him
that
she
has
no
good
news
,
either
to
warm
his
own
heart
,
or
for
him
to
carry
down
as
a
solace
to
the
poor
old
man
below
.
"
Oh
,
it
is
you
,
is
it
?
"
says
she
,
shutting
the
door
behind
her
with
a
clumsy
carefulness
that
makes
it
creak
.
"
No
,
I
do
not
think
she
is
any
better
;
but
it
is
so
difficult
to
tell
,
I
am
no
judge
.
She
does
not
complain
of
anything
particular
;
but
she
looks
so
odd
.
"
It
is
the
same
adjective
that
Cecilia
had
applied
earlier
in
the
day
to
her
sick
sister
,
and
it
fills
Jim
with
an
impotent
terror
.
"
If
she
is
asleep
,
might
not
I
just
look
in
at
her
?
"
he
asks
.
"
I
do
not
know
what
you
mean
when
you
say
she
looks
odd
.
"
"
She
is
not
asleep
,
"
replies
Cecilia
,
in
a
noisy
whisper
,
much
more
likely
to
pierce
sick
ears
than
a
voice
pitched
in
its
normal
key
;
"
at
least
,
I
think
not
.
But
I
am
sure
you
ought
not
to
see
her
;
Dr.
Coldstream
said
she
was
to
be
kept
very
quiet
,
and
nothing
would
upset
her
so
much
as
seeing
you
.
"
"
She
need
not
see
me
;
I
would
only
take
just
one
look
at
her
from
behind
the
door
,
"
persists
Jim
who
feels
a
desire
,
whose
gnawing
intensity
surprises
himself
,
to
be
assured
by
the
evidence
of
his
own
eyes
that
his
poor
love
's
face
has
not
undergone
some
strange
and
gruesome
change
,
such
as
is
suggested
by
Cecilia
's
disquieting
epithet
.
"
Do
you
think
she
would
not
know
you
were
there
?
"
asks
she
scornfully
,
"
Why
,
she
hears
your
step
three
streets
off
!
"
CHAPTER
XXVIII
.
So
that
night
Jim
does
not
see
Amelia
.
After
all
,
as
Cecilia
says
,
it
is
better
to
be
on
the
safe
side
,
and
to-morrow
she
will
be
brighter
,
and
he
can
sit
by
her
,
and
tell
her
lovingly
—
oh
very
lovingly
!
—
what
a
fright
she
has
given
him
.
Yes
,
to-morrow
she
will
be
brighter
.
The
adjective
is
Cecilia
's
;
but
,
apparently
,
he
cannot
improve
upon
it
,
for
he
not
only
keeps
repeating
it
to
himself
as
he
runs
downstairs
,
but
employs
it
for
the
reassurance
of
Miss
Wilson
's
anxious
relatives
.
"
She
will
be
brighter
to-morrow
;
sick
people
are
always
worse
at
night
,
are
not
they
?
"
—
rather
vaguely
,
with
again
that
oppressive
sense
of
his
own
inexperience
in
illness
.
"
Not
that
she
is
worse
"
—
this
is
hastily
subjoined
,
as
he
sees
her
father
's
face
fall
—
"
Cecilia
never
said
she
was
worse
—
oh
,
no
,
not
worse
,
only
not
distinctly
better
;
and
,
after
all
,
it
would
have
been
irrational
to
expect
that
.
She
will
be
brighter
to-morrow
—
oh
,
yes
,
of
course
she
will
be
brighter
to-morrow
!
"
He
leaves
the
hotel
with
the
phrase
,
which
sounds
cut
and
dried
and
unreal
,
still
upon
his
lips
,
after
bidding
a
kinder
good-night
than
usual
to
Mr.
Wilson
,
after
having
offered
to
supply
Amelia
's
place
by
reading
aloud
to
him
,
a
feat
he
has
not
performed
since
the
evening
of
his
disastrous
experience
of
the
Provident
Women
of
Oxford
;
and
lastly
,
having
even
—
as
a
reward
to
Sybilla
,
who
has
been
understood
to
murmur
something
tearful
about
letting
her
maid
look
in
upon
Amelia
at
intervals
through
the
night
—
tucked
in
her
Austrian
blanket
,
and
picked
up
her
smelling-bottle
.
He
has
expected
to
rejoin
Byng
outside
,
as
he
had
promised
to
wait
for
him
with
such
patience
as
a
cigar
could
lend
,
and
on
the
condition
that
his
absence
should
not
exceed
a
stipulated
period
.
But
either
the
promise
has
been
broken
,
or
the
period
exceeded
,
for
Byng
is
gone
.
The
fact
does
not
greatly
surprise
Burgoyne
,
though
it
causes
him
a
slight
uneasiness
,
which
is
,
perhaps
,
rather
a
blessing
for
him
,
distracting
his
mind
in
some
slight
measure
from
the
heaviness
of
his
own
trouble
.
He
walks
fast
to
the
Piazza
d'Azeglio
;
but
he
neither
overtakes
him
of
whom
he
is
in
pursuit
,
nor
finds
him
at
12
bis
.
He
has
been
there
,
has
inquired
with
agitation
for
the
telegrams
,
which
have
naturally
not
been
received
,
and
has
then
gone
away
again
immediately
.
Whither
?
The
Padrona
,
who
has
answered
the
door-bell
herself
and
,
with
Italian
suavity
,
is
doing
her
best
to
conceal
that
she
is
beginning
to
think
she
has
heard
nearly
enough
of
the
subject
,
does
not
know
.
For
a
few
moments
Jim
stands
irresolute
,
then
he
turns
his
steps
towards
the
Arno
.
It
is
not
yet
too
late
for
the
charming
riverside
promenade
,
the
gay
Lung'Arno
,
to
be
still
alive
with
flâneurs
;
the
stars
have
lit
their
lamps
above
,
and
the
hotels
below
.
The
pale
planets
,
and
the
yellow
lights
from
the
opposite
bank
of
the
river
,
lie
together
,
sweet
and
peaceful
upon
her
breast
.
In
both
cases
the
counterfeits
are
as
clear
and
bright
as
the
real
luminaries
;
and
it
seems
as
if
one
had
only
to
plunge
in
an
arm
to
pick
up
stars
and
candles
out
of
the
stream
's
depths
.
Leaning
over
the
parapet
near
the
Ponte
Vecchio
,
Burgoyne
soon
discovers
a
familiar
figure
,
a
figure
which
starts
when
he
touches
its
arm
.
"
I
thought
I
would
wait
about
here
for
an
hour
or
so
,
"
says
Byng
,
with
a
rather
guilty
air
of
apology
,
"
until
I
could
go
back
and
inquire
again
.
The
telegram
has
not
arrived
yet
—
I
suppose
it
is
too
early
.
Of
course
they
would
not
telegraph
until
they
get
in
to-night
.
You
do
not
think
"
—
with
a
look
of
almost
terror
—
"
that
they
are
going
through
to
England
,
and
that
they
will
not
telegraph
till
they
get
there
?
"
"
How
can
I
tell
?
"
"
There
is
nothing
in
the
world
less
likely
,
"
cries
Byng
feverishly
,
irritated
at
not
having
drawn
forth
the
reassurance
he
had
hoped
for
.
"
I
do
not
for
a
moment
believe
that
they
have
gone
home
;
I
feel
convinced
that
they
are
still
in
Italy
!
Why
should
they
leave
it
,
when
they
—
when
she
is
so
fond
of
it
?
"
Jim
looks
down
sadly
at
the
calm
,
strong
stream
.
"
I
do
not
know
,
I
cannot
give
an
opinion
—
I
have
no
clue
.
"
"
I
will
ask
again
in
about
an
hour
,
"
says
Byng
,
lifting
his
arms
from
the
parapet
,
"
in
an
hour
it
is
pretty
certain
to
have
arrived
;
and
meanwhile
,
I
thought
I
would
just
stroll
about
the
town
,
but
there
is
no
reason
—
none
at
all
—
why
I
should
keep
you
!
You
—
you
must
be
wanting
to
go
back
to
Amelia
.
"
He
glances
at
his
friend
in
a
nervous
,
sidelong
way
,
as
he
makes
this
suggestion
.
"
I
am
not
going
back
again
to-night
,
"
replies
Jim
quietly
,
without
giving
any
evidence
of
an
intention
to
acquiesce
in
his
dismissal
.
"
There
is
nothing
that
I
can
do
for
her
—
there
is
nothing
to
be
done
.
"
His
tone
,
in
making
this
statement
,
must
be
yet
more
dreary
than
he
is
aware
,
as
it
arouses
even
Byng
's
self-absorbed
attention
.
"
Nothing
to
be
done
for
her
?
"
he
echoes
,
with
a
shocked
look
.
"
My
dear
old
chap
,
you
do
not
mean
to
say
—
to
imply
—
"
"
I
mean
to
imply
nothing
,
"
interrupts
Jim
sharply
,
in
a
superstitious
panic
of
hearing
some
unfavourable
augury
as
to
his
betrothed
put
into
words
.
"
I
mean
just
what
I
say
—
neither
more
nor
less
;
there
is
nothing
to
be
done
for
her
to-night
,
nothing
but
to
let
her
sleep
—
a
good
sleep
will
set
her
up
:
of
course
a
good
sleep
will
quite
set
her
up
.
"
He
speaks
almost
angrily
,
as
if
expecting
and
challenging
contradiction
.
But
Byng
's
spirit
has
already
flown
back
to
his
own
woes
.
He
may
make
what
sanguine
statements
he
pleases
about
Amelia
's
to-morrow
,
without
fearing
any
demurrer
from
his
companion
.
What
attention
the
latter
has
to
spare
is
evidently
only
directed
to
the
solving
of
the
problem
,
how
best
,
with
amicable
civility
,
to
be
rid
of
him
.
Before
he
can
hit
upon
any
expedient
for
attaining
this
desired
end
,
Burgoyne
speaks
again
,
his
eye
resting
with
a
compassionate
expression
upon
his
junior
's
face
,
whose
wild
pallor
is
heightened
by
the
disorder
of
his
hair
,
and
the
hat
crushed
down
over
his
brows
.
"
You
have
not
had
anything
to
eat
all
day
—
had
not
you
better
come
back
to
the
hotel
and
get
something
to
eat
?
"
"
Eat
!
"
cries
the
other
,
with
almost
a
scream
;
"
you
must
have
very
little
comprehension
of
—
—
"
Then
,
checking
himself
and
with
a
strong
and
palpable
effort
for
composure
:
"
It
would
not
be
worth
while
,
I
should
not
have
time
;
in
an
hour
—
less
than
an
hour
now
,
for
I
must
have
been
here
quite
ten
minutes
at
the
least
—
I
have
to
return
to
the
Piazza
d'Azeglio
.
"
"
Then
go
to
Doney
's
;
why
not
get
something
to
eat
at
Doney
's
?
It
will
not
take
you
five
minutes
to
reach
the
Via
Tornabuoni
.
"
"
What
should
I
do
when
I
got
there
?
"
asks
Byng
impatiently
.
"
If
I
tried
to
swallow
food
,
it
would
stick
in
my
throat
;
no
food
shall
pass
my
lips
till
I
learn
where
she
is
;
after
that
"
—
breaking
out
into
a
noisy
laugh
—
"
you
may
do
what
you
please
with
me
—
we
will
make
a
night
of
it
with
all
my
heart
,
we
will
—
"
'
Drink
,
drink
,
Till
the
pale
stars
blink
!
'
"
Jim
looks
blankly
at
him
.
Is
he
going
mad
?
"
If
you
think
that
you
will
get
me
to
go
back
to
the
hotel
to-night
,
you
are
very
much
mistaken
,
"
continues
Byng
recklessly
;
"
no
roof
less
high
than
this
"
—
jerking
back
his
head
,
to
throw
his
fevered
look
up
to
the
cool
stars
—
"
shall
shelter
my
head
;
and
besides
,
where
would
be
the
use
of
going
to
bed
when
I
should
have
to
be
up
again
so
early
?
I
shall
be
off
by
one
of
the
morning
expresses
:
until
I
have
learnt
—
as
,
of
course
,
I
shall
do
to-night
—
where
she
has
gone
,
I
cannot
tell
which
;
but
neither
of
them
starts
much
later
than
seven
.
"
For
a
moment
Jim
stands
dumb
with
consternation
at
the
announcement
of
this
intention
;
but
,
reflecting
that
it
would
not
be
a
whit
more
irrational
to
attempt
to
reason
with
a
madman
who
had
reached
the
padded-room
stage
of
lunacy
,
than
with
his
present
companion
,
he
contents
himself
with
saying
:
"
And
supposing
that
you
do
not
learn
to-night
where
she
has
gone
?
"
"
There
is
no
use
in
supposing
anything
so
impossible
!
"
But
as
the
hours
go
by
,
the
possibility
becomes
a
probability
,
the
probability
a
certainty
!
Midnight
comes
,
and
the
closed
telegraph-office
puts
a
final
extinguisher
upon
the
expectation
,
which
no
one
but
the
unhappy
lover
had
ever
entertained
,
that
Florence
would
be
enlightened
before
the
dawn
of
another
day
as
to
the
place
whither
her
two
truants
have
fled
.
Burgoyne
has
accompanied
his
friend
upon
his
last
importunate
visit
to
the
now-going-to-bed
and
justly-incensed
12
bis
.
He
has
been
ashamed
again
to
present
himself
at
the
so-often-attacked
door
,
so
has
awaited
at
the
bottom
of
the
stairs
,
has
heard
Byng
's
hoarse
query
,
and
the
negative
—
curter
and
less
suave
than
the
last
one
—
that
follows
it
;
has
heard
the
door
shut
again
,
and
the
hopeless
footsteps
that
come
staggering
down
to
him
.
"
You
will
go
home
now
?
"
"
'
Perchance
,
Iago
,
I
shall
ne'er
go
home
!
'
"
replies
Byng
;
and
,
though
he
is
compelled
to
admit
that
there
is
no
longer
any
possibility
of
his
to-night
obtaining
the
information
for
which
he
so
madly
hungers
,
that
there
can
consequently
be
no
question
of
his
setting
off
by
one
of
the
early
trains
,
since
he
would
not
know
in
which
direction
to
go
,
and
might
only
be
fleeing
further
from
her
whom
he
would
fain
rejoin
,
yet
he
still
keeps
with
fevered
pertinacity
to
his
project
of
spending
the
night
à
la
belle
étoile
.
Finding
it
impossible
to
dissuade
him
,
Jim
resigns
himself
to
bearing
him
company
.
It
is
with
very
little
reluctance
that
he
does
so
.
There
is
no
truer
truism
than
that
all
sorrows
,
however
mountainous
,
are
more
easily
carried
under
God
's
high
roof
than
man
's
low
ones
,
and
he
who
does
not
sleep
has
for
compensation
that
at
least
he
can
have
no
dreadful
waking
.
So
the
two
men
wander
about
all
night
in
the
boon
southern
air
,
and
see
—
"
The
moon
exactly
round
,
And
all
those
stars
with
which
the
brows
of
ample
heaven
are
crown
'd
;
Orion
,
all
the
Pleiades
,
and
those
seven
Atlas
got
;
The
close-beam
'd
Hyades
,
the
Bear
,
surnamed
the
Chariot
,
That
turns
about
heaven
's
axle-tree
,
holds
ope
a
constant
eye
Upon
Orion
,
and
of
all
the
cressets
in
the
sky
,
His
golden
forehead
never
bows
to
the
Ocean
's
empery
.
"
There
are
not
many
hours
of
a
summer
's
night
during
which
the
stir
of
life
has
ceased
and
has
not
yet
reawaked
in
an
Italian
town
,
the
talk
and
the
tread
and
the
mule
bells
,
and
the
flutes
of
the
voiceful
people
lasting
on
till
near
the
small
hours
,
and
beginning
again
ere
those
hours
have
had
strength
to
grow
big
.
But
yet
there
is
a
space
of
time
when
Florence
lies
silent
,
baring
her
beauty
to
the
constellations
alone
;
and
under
this
unfamiliar
and
solemn
and
lovely
aspect
the
two
night-wanderers
see
her
.
They
see
her
Campanile
"
Commercing
with
the
skies
,
"
with
no
distracting
human
bustle
about
her
feet
;
they
see
her
Perseus
battling
beneath
her
Loggia
,
and
her
San
Giorgio
standing
wakeful
at
his
post
on
Or
san
Michele
.
They
see
her
scowling
palace
rows
,
her
stealing
river
,
and
her
spanning
bridges
—
palaces
out
of
which
no
head
peeps
,
a
river
on
which
no
boat
oars
,
bridges
upon
which
no
horse-hoof
rings
.
They
have
all
her
churches
—
Santa
Croce
,
Arnolpho
's
great
"
Bride
,
"
that
new
Maria
that
is
now
four
hundred
years
old
or
more
,
the
humbly
glorious
San
Marco
—
to
themselves
;
all
her
treasure
houses
,
all
her
memories
,
all
her
flower-embalmed
air
—
for
a
few
hours
they
possess
them
all
.
She
is
but
a
little
city
,
this
fair
Firenze
,
and
in
these
few
hours
they
traverse
her
in
her
length
and
breadth
,
rambling
aimlessly
wherever
Byng
's
feverishly
miserable
impulses
lead
them
.
Burgoyne
offers
no
opposition
to
any
of
these
,
but
accompanies
his
friend
silently
down
slumbrous
thoroughfare
,
or
across
sleeping
Piazza
,
by
Arno
side
,
under
colonnade
or
arch
.
It
is
all
one
to
him
;
nor
is
he
sensible
of
any
fatigue
,
when
at
length
,
at
about
the
hour
when
Byng
had
meant
to
have
caught
the
early
morning
train
,
they
return
to
the
hotel
,
and
the
younger
man
,
happily
dead-beat
at
last
,
worn
out
with
want
of
food
,
tears
,
and
weariness
,
flings
himself
down
,
dressed
,
upon
his
bed
,
and
instantly
falls
into
a
leaden
sleep
.
Jim
feels
no
desire
,
nor
indeed
any
power
of
following
his
example
.
He
is
not
easily
tired
,
and
his
former
life
of
travel
and
hardship
has
made
him
always
willing
to
dispense
with
the
—
to
him
—
unnecessary
luxury
of
a
bed
;
and
,
under
ordinary
circumstances
,
a
night
passed
in
the
open
air
would
have
had
an
effect
upon
him
rather
exhilarating
than
otherwise
.
He
has
his
bath
,
dresses
,
breakfasts
,
and
then
jumps
into
a
fiacre
,
and
has
himself
driven
to
the
Anglo-Américain
.
The
day
is
so
exactly
the
counterpart
of
its
predecessor
,
in
its
even
assured
splendour
,
that
Jim
has
a
hazy
feeling
that
they
both
make
only
one
divided
into
two
parts
by
the
narrow
dark
blue
ribbon
of
the
exquisite
brief
night
.
When
did
yesterday
end
and
to-day
begin
?
As
he
is
borne
along
,
his
memory
,
made
more
alert
by
sleeplessness
,
reproduces
—
merely
,
as
it
seems
to
him
,
the
better
to
fill
him
with
pain
and
remorse
—
the
different
states
of
mind
in
which
he
has
passed
over
the
often
trodden
ground
.
Here
,
at
the
street
corner
,
what
a
nausea
had
come
over
him
at
the
thought
of
the
interest
he
would
have
to
feign
in
those
humdrum
details
,
so
dear
to
Amelia
's
soul
,
of
their
future
ménage
,
with
all
its
candle-end
economies
and
depressing
restrictions
.
Here
,
in
the
church
shadow
,
how
he
had
tried
to
lash
himself
up
into
a
more
probable
semblance
of
pleasure
in
her
expected
and
dreaded
caresses
.
There
seems
to
be
scarcely
an
inch
of
the
way
where
he
has
not
had
some
harsh
or
weary
thought
of
her
;
he
is
thankful
when
the
brief
transit
,
that
has
appeared
to
him
so
long
,
is
over
.
And
yet
the
change
is
only
from
the
sharp
sting
of
recollected
unkindness
to
the
dull
bruising
ache
of
anticipated
ill.
A
garçon
is
sweeping
out
the
salon
,
for
the
hour
is
not
much
beyond
eight
,
so
Jim
goes
into
the
dreary
little
dining-room
,
where
two
places
are
laid
with
coffee-cups
and
rolls
.
Only
two
.
And
,
though
he
knows
that
nothing
short
of
a
miracle
could
have
already
restored
Amelia
so
completely
as
to
enable
her
to
come
down
to
breakfast
,
yet
the
ocular
demonstration
of
the
fact
that
her
place
is
and
will
be
empty
,
strikes
a
chill
to
his
boding
heart
.
He
is
presently
joined
by
Cecilia
,
whose
carelessly-dressed
hair
,
heavy
eyelids
,
and
tired
puffy
face
,
sufficiently
show
that
not
to
her
,
any
more
than
to
himself
has
night
brought
"
Sweet
child
sleep
,
the
filmy-eyed
.
"
"
How
fresh
and
cool
you
are
!
"
she
cries
,
with
an
almost
reproachful
intonation
.
"
Do
not
look
at
me
!
"
—
covering
her
face
with
her
hot
hands
—
"
I
am
not
fit
to
be
seen
;
but
what
does
that
matter
?
What
do
I
care
?
"
—
beginning
to
cry
—
"
Oh
,
she
is
so
bad
!
We
have
spent
such
a
dreadful
night
!
As
I
tell
you
,
I
am
a
shocking
sick-nurse
;
I
never
know
what
to
do
;
I
lose
my
head
completely
;
and
she
has
been
so
odd
—
she
has
been
talking
such
gibberish
!
"
"
Delirious
?
"
"
Yes
,
I
suppose
that
is
what
you
would
call
it
.
I
never
saw
anybody
delirious
before
,
so
I
do
not
know
.
I
have
seen
Sybilla
in
hysterics
,
but
I
never
believed
that
they
were
real
—
I
always
thought
that
a
bucket
of
water
would
bring
her
round
.
"
As
a
general
rule
,
Jim
may
be
counted
upon
for
cordial
co-operation
in
any
hit
directed
against
Sybilla
,
but
now
he
is
too
spiritless
even
to
notice
it
.
"
I
was
so
frightened
,
"
continues
Cecilia
;
"
it
is
not
cheerful
being
all
alone
at
the
dead
of
night
with
a
person
talking
such
nonsense
as
she
was
.
Amelia
,
of
all
people
,
to
talk
nonsense
!
I
could
not
quite
make
out
what
it
was
about
,
but
it
seemed
to
have
more
or
less
reference
to
you
.
She
was
begging
you
to
forgive
her
for
something
she
had
done
,
as
far
as
I
could
gather
;
some
treat
she
had
prepared
for
you
,
and
that
you
had
not
liked
.
Have
you
the
least
idea
what
she
could
have
meant
?
"
He
has
every
idea
;
but
it
would
seem
profanation
to
explain
that
her
poor
wandering
brain
is
still
distressedly
labouring
with
the
abortive
project
she
had
so
happily
framed
for
his
enjoyment
.
"
She
is
quieter
now
.
Sybilla
's
maid
is
with
her
;
Sybilla
really
has
not
behaved
badly
—
for
her
;
she
let
her
maid
look
in
several
times
during
the
night
;
but
still
,
for
the
most
part
I
was
alone
with
her
!
Oh
,
I
do
trust
"
—
shuddering
—
"
that
I
may
never
again
have
to
be
alone
at
night
with
a
person
who
is
not
right
in
her
head
!
"
This
aspiration
on
the
youngest
Miss
Wilson
's
part
is
,
for
the
present
occasion
,
at
least
,
likely
to
be
gratified
;
for
,
by
the
time
that
another
night
settles
down
on
Florence
,
Amelia
's
illness
has
been
declared
by
Dr.
Coldstream
to
have
every
symptom
of
developing
into
the
malarious
Florentine
fever
,
which
not
unfrequently
lays
low
the
chilled
or
over-fatigued
,
or
generally
imprudent
foreign
visitor
to
that
little
Eden
.
Amelia
has
Florentine
fever
;
and
the
verification
of
this
fact
is
followed
by
all
the
paraphernalia
of
serious
sickness
—
night
and
day
nurses
,
disinfectants
,
physic
phials
.
The
announcement
of
her
being
attacked
by
a
definite
and
recognised
disease
brings
at
first
a
sort
of
relief
to
Burgoyne
's
mind
,
which
,
under
Cecilia
's
frightened
and
frightening
word-pictures
,
had
been
beset
by
terrors
great
in
proportion
to
their
vagueness
.
Now
that
Amelia
is
confessedly
sick
of
a
fever
,
there
is
nothing
abnormal
in
her
being
"
odd
,
"
and
"
stupid
,
"
and
"
wandering
,
"
these
being
only
the
inevitable
stages
on
a
road
which
will
—
which
must
lead
to
ultimate
recovery
.
His
heart
is
heavy
,
yet
scarcely
so
heavy
as
it
had
been
upon
his
arrival
in
the
morning
,
when
,
late
in
the
afternoon
—
not
sooner
do
the
claims
upon
him
of
the
disorganized
and
helpless
family
of
his
betrothed
relax
—
he
returns
to
the
Minerva
to
look
after
Byng
.
Having
had
every
reason
to
fear
that
he
will
not
find
him
at
the
hotel
,
but
will
be
obliged
again
to
set
off
in
pursuit
of
him
through
the
streets
and
squares
so
repeatedly
traversed
last
night
,
he
is
relieved
to
learn
from
the
hotel
servants
that
the
young
man
is
in
his
bedroom
.
He
finds
him
there
indeed
;
no
longer
stretched
in
the
blessed
oblivion
of
deep
sleep
upon
his
bed
,
but
sitting
on
a
hard
chair
by
the
open
window
,
his
arms
resting
upon
the
back
,
and
his
face
crushed
down
upon
them
.
By
no
slightest
movement
does
he
show
consciousness
of
his
friend
's
entrance
.
"
I
am
afraid
I
have
been
a
long
time
away
,
"
says
the
latter
kindly
.
"
Have
you
?
"
answers
Byng
,
his
voice
coming
muffled
through
lips
still
buried
in
his
own
coat-sleeve
.
"
I
do
not
know
;
I
have
done
with
time
!
"
"
I
do
not
know
how
you
have
managed
that
,
"
rejoins
Jim
,
still
indulgently
,
though
a
shade
dryly
.
"
Have
you
been
here
all
day
?
"
"
I
do
not
know
where
I
have
been
.
Yes
,
"
—
lifting
his
head
—
"
I
do
;
I
have
been
to
the
Piazza
d'Azeglio
.
"
"
Well
?
"
"
They
know
where
she
is
.
They
were
packing
her
things
;
through
the
door
I
saw
them
tying
the
label
on
the
box
;
if
I
had
tried
I
could
have
read
the
address
on
the
label
,
but
I
did
not
.
She
had
forbidden
them
to
give
it
to
me
;
in
her
telegram
she
had
forbidden
them
to
give
it
to
anyone
.
"
CHAPTER
XXIX
.
Jim
refrains
from
saying
how
likely
this
culmination
of
his
friend
's
woes
has
appeared
to
him
,
since
it
would
have
been
the
height
of
the
illogical
for
the
Le
Marchants
to
have
put
themselves
to
extreme
inconvenience
in
order
to
escape
from
a
person
to
whom
they
immediately
afterwards
gave
the
power
of
following
them
.
He
refrains
from
saying
it
,
because
he
knows
of
how
very
little
consoling
power
the
"
told
you
so
"
philosophy
is
possessed
.
"
And
what
will
you
do
now
?
"
"
Do
!
What
is
there
to
do
?
What
does
a
man
do
when
he
is
shot
through
the
heart
?
"
"
I
believe
that
in
point
of
fact
he
jumps
his
own
height
in
the
air
.
I
know
that
a
buffalo
does
,
"
replies
Burgoyne
with
a
matter-of-fact
dryness
,
which
proceeds
less
from
want
of
sympathy
,
than
from
an
honest
belief
that
it
is
the
best
and
kindest
method
of
dealing
with
Byng
's
heroics
.
"
Shot
through
the
heart
!
"
murmurs
the
latter
,
repeating
his
own
phrase
as
if
he
found
a
dismal
pleasure
in
it
.
"
I
had
always
been
told
that
it
was
a
painless
death
;
I
now
know
to
the
contrary
.
"
"
Shall
you
stay
here
?
There
is
no
longer
any
use
in
your
staying
here
.
"
"
There
is
no
longer
any
use
in
my
doing
anything
,
or
leaving
anything
undone
.
"
'
There
's
nothing
in
this
world
can
make
me
joy
;
Life
is
as
tedious
as
a
twice-told
tale
,
Vexing
the
dull
ear
of
a
drowsy
man
.
'
"
So
saying
,
he
replaces
his
head
upon
his
arms
,
and
his
arms
upon
the
chair-rail
,
with
the
air
of
one
who
,
upon
mature
consideration
,
has
decided
to
maintain
that
attitude
for
the
remainder
of
his
life
.
A
week
has
passed
;
a
week
upon
which
Burgoyne
looks
back
as
upon
a
blur
of
wretchedness
,
with
distinct
points
of
pain
sticking
up
here
and
there
out
of
it
.
It
is
a
blur
;
for
it
is
a
time-space
,
without
the
usual
limitations
and
divisions
of
time
;
a
week
not
cut
up
into
orderly
lengths
of
day
and
night
,
but
in
which
each
has
puzzlingly
run
into
and
overlapped
each
.
There
have
been
nights
when
he
has
not
been
in
bed
at
all
,
and
there
have
been
days
when
he
has
slept
heavily
at
unaccustomed
hours
.
He
has
not
dined
at
any
particular
time
;
he
has
shared
forlorn
breakfast
,
dotted
about
the
morning
as
the
less
or
more
anxiety
about
Amelia
dictated
,
with
the
Wilsons
.
He
has
drunk
more
tea
than
he
ever
did
in
his
life
before
,
and
the
result
of
this
whole
condition
of
things
is
,
that
he
cannot
for
the
life
of
him
tell
whether
the
day
of
the
week
is
Wednesday
,
or
Thursday
,
or
Friday
,
and
that
he
has
lost
all
sense
of
proportion
.
He
has
not
the
least
idea
whether
the
dreadful
moments
when
he
stood
on
the
landing
outside
Amelia
's
door
,
and
heard
her
heartrendingly
beg
him
not
to
go
away
from
her
for
quite
so
long
,
to
be
a
little
gladder
to
see
her
when
he
came
back
;
or
again
affectingly
assure
him
that
she
can
do
quite
well
,
be
quite
cheerful
without
him
—
whether
,
I
say
,
those
dreadful
moments
were
really
only
moments
,
or
stretched
into
hours
.
Besides
the
agony
of
remorse
that
the
impotent
listening
to
those
pathetic
prayers
and
unselfish
assurances
causes
him
,
he
suffers
too
from
another
agony
of
shame
,
that
the
father
and
sister
,
standing
like
himself
with
ears
stretched
at
that
shut
door
,
should
be
let
into
the
long
secret
of
his
cruelty
and
coldness
,
that
secret
which
for
eight
years
she
has
so
gallantly
been
hiding
.
It
is
an
inexpressible
relief
to
him
that
at
least
the
old
man
's
thickened
hearing
admits
but
very
imperfectly
his
daughter
's
rapid
utterances
.
"
Poor
soul
!
I
cannot
quite
make
out
what
it
is
all
about
,
"
he
says
,
with
his
hand
to
his
ear
;
"
but
I
catch
your
name
over
and
over
again
,
Jim
;
I
suppose
it
is
all
about
you
.
"
Cecilia
,
however
,
naturally
hears
as
well
as
he
himself
does
,
and
apparently
pitying
the
drawn
misery
of
his
face
,
whispers
to
him
comfortingly
—
"
You
must
not
mind
,
you
know
it
is
all
nonsense
.
She
talks
very
differently
when
she
is
well
.
"
The
Wilson
family
have
never
hitherto
shown
any
very
marked
affection
for
Burgoyne
,
but
now
it
seems
as
if
they
could
hardly
bear
him
out
of
their
sight
.
They
cling
to
him
,
not
because
he
is
he
—
Jim
makes
himself
no
illusion
on
that
head
—
but
because
they
have
got
into
such
a
habit
of
leaning
,
that
it
is
no
longer
possible
to
them
to
stand
upright
.
He
had
never
realized
till
now
how
helpless
they
are
.
He
had
known
that
Amelia
was
the
pivot
upon
which
the
whole
family
turned
;
but
he
had
not
brought
home
to
himself
how
utterly
the
machine
fell
to
pieces
when
that
pivot
was
withdrawn
.
In
the
course
of
the
past
week
each
member
of
the
family
has
confided
to
him
separately
how
far
more
she
or
he
misses
Amelia
,
than
can
be
possible
to
either
of
the
others
.
Upon
this
head
Sybilla
's
lamentations
are
the
loudest
and
most
frequent
.
She
had
at
first
refused
to
admit
that
there
was
anything
at
all
the
matter
with
her
sister
,
but
has
now
fallen
into
the
no
less
trying
opposite
extreme
of
refusing
to
allow
that
there
is
any
possibility
of
her
recovery
,
talking
of
her
as
if
she
were
almost
beyond
the
reach
of
human
aid
.
Sybilla
's
grief
for
her
sister
is
perfectly
genuine
;
none
the
less
so
that
it
is
complicated
by
irritation
at
her
own
deposition
from
her
post
of
first
invalid
,
at
having
been
compelled
to
confess
the
existence
in
the
bosom
of
her
own
family
of
a
traitor
,
with
an
indisputably
higher
temperature
and
more
wavering
pulse
than
she
.
"
It
is
ridiculous
