the shore he could just stand on his
legs. With the assistance of a policeman, Hilary enveloped him in
garments and got him to a cab. He had regained some of his vitality, but
did not seem aware of what had happened.

"I was not in as long as usual," he mused, as they passed out into the
high road.

"Oh, I think so, sir."

Mr. Stone looked troubled.

"It is odd," he said. "I do not recollect leaving the water."

He did not speak again till he was being assisted from the cab.

"I wish to recompense the man. I have half a crown indoors."

"I will get it, sir," said Hilary.

Mr. Stone, who shivered violently now that he was on his feet, turned his
face up to the cabman.

"Nothing is nobler than the horse," he said; "take care of him."

The cabman removed his hat. "I will, sir," he answered.

Walking by himself, but closely watched by Hilary, Mr. Stone reached his
room. He groped about him as though not distinguishing objects too well
through the crystal clearness of the fundamental flux.

"If I might advise you," said Hilary, "I would get back into bed for a
few minutes. You seem a little chilly."

Mr. Stone, who was indeed shaking so that he could hardly stand, allowed
Hilary to assist him into bed and tuck the blankets round him.

"I must be at work by ten o'clock," he said.

Hilary, who was also shivering, hastened to Bianca's room. She was just
coming down, and exclaimed at seeing him all wet. When he had told her
of the episode she touched his shoulder.

"What about you?"

"A hot bath and drink will set me right. You'd better go to him."

He turned towards the bathroom, where Miranda stood, lifting a white
foot. Compressing her lips, Bianca ran downstairs. Startled by his
tale, she would have taken his wet body in her arms; if the ghosts of
innumerable moments had not stood between. So this moment passed too,
and itself became a ghost.

Mr. Stone, greatly to his disgust, had not succeeded in resuming work at
ten o'clock. Failing simply because he could not stand on his legs, he
had announced his intention of waiting until half-past three, when he
should get up, in preparation for the coming of the little girl. Having
refused to see a doctor, or have his temperature taken, it was impossible
to tell precisely what degree of fever he was in. In his cheeks, just
visible over the blankets, there was more colour than there should have
been; and his eyes, fixed on the ceiling, shone wi