I went so far, in the evening, as to make a beginning. The weather had changed back, a great wind was abroad, and beneath the lamp, in my room, with Flora at peace beside me, I sat for a long time before a blank sheet of paper and listened to the lash of the rain and the batter of the gusts. Finally I went out, taking a candle; I crossed the passage and listened a minute at Miless door. What, under my endless obsession, I had been impelled to listen for was some betrayal of his not being at rest, and I presently caught one, but not in the form I had expected. His voice tinkled out. I say, you therecome in. It was a gaiety in the gloom!
I went in with my light and found him, in bed, very wide awake, but very much at his ease. Well, what are you up to? he asked with a grace of sociability in which it occurred to me that Mrs. Grose, had she been present, might have looked in vain for proof that anything was out.
I stood over him with my candle. How did you know I was there?
Why, of course I heard you. Did you fancy you made no noise? Youre like a troop of cavalry! he beautifully laughed.
Then you werent asleep?
Not much! I lie awake and think.
I had put my candle, designedly, a short way off, and then, as he held out his friendly old hand to me, had sat down on the edge of his bed. What is it, I asked, that you think of?
What in the world, my dear, but you?
Ah, the pride I take in your appreciation doesnt insist on that! I had so far rather you slept.
Well, I think also, you know, of this queer business of ours.
I marked the coolness of his firm little hand. Of what queer business, Miles?
Why, the way you bring me up. And all the rest!
I fairly held my breath a minute, and even from my glimmering taper there was light enough to show how he smiled up at me from his pillow. What do you mean by all the rest?
Oh, you know, you know!
I could say nothing for a minute, though I felt, as I held his hand and our eyes continued to meet, that my silence had all the air of admitting his charge and that nothing in the whole world of reality was perhaps at that moment so fabulous as our actual relation. Certainly you shall go back to school, I said, if it be that that troubles you. But not to the old placewe must find another, a better. How could I know it did trouble you, this question, when you never told me so, never spoke of it at all? His clear, listening face, framed in its smooth whiteness, made him for the minute as appealing as some wistful patient in a childrens hospital; and I would have given, as the resemblance came to me, all I possessed on earth really to be the nurse or the sister of charity who might have helped to cure him. Well, even as it was, I perhaps might help! Do you know youve never said a word to me about your schoolI mean the old one; never mentioned it in any way?
He seemed to wonder; he smiled with the same loveliness. But he clearly gained time; he waited, he called for guidance. Havent I? It wasnt for me to help himit was for the thing I had met!
Something in his tone and the expression of his face, as I got this from him, set my heart aching with such a pang as it had never yet known; so unutterably touching was it to see his little brain puzzled and his little resources taxed to play, under the spell laid on him, a part of innocence and consistency. No,
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