passed, very silent, their arms round each
other's waists.

Barbara turned and walked away towards the house.

CHAPTER XI

The days when Miltoun was first allowed out of bed were a time of mingled
joy and sorrow to her who had nursed him. To see him sitting up, amazed
at his own weakness, was happiness, yet to think that he would be no more
wholly dependent, no more that sacred thing, a helpless creature, brought
her the sadness of a mother whose child no longer needs her. With every
hour he would now get farther from her, back into the fastnesses of his
own spirit. With every hour she would be less his nurse and comforter,
more the woman he loved. And though that thought shone out in the
obscure future like a glamorous flower, it brought too much wistful
uncertainty to the present. She was very tired, too, now that all
excitement was over--so tired that she hardly knew what she did or where
she moved. But a smile had become so faithful to her eyes that it clung
there above the shadows of fatigue, and kept taking her lips prisoner.

Between the two bronze busts she had placed a bowl of lilies of the
valley; and every free niche in that room of books had a little vase of
roses to welcome Miltoun's return.

He was lying back in his big leather chair, wrapped in a Turkish gown of
Lord Valleys'--on which Barbara had laid hands, having failed to find
anything resembling a dressing-gown amongst her brother's austere
clothing. The perfume of lilies had overcome the scent of books, and a
bee, dusky, adventurer, filled the room with his pleasant humming.

They did not speak, but smiled faintly, looking at one another. In this
still moment, before passion had returned to claim its own, their spirits
passed through the sleepy air, and became entwined, so that neither could
withdraw that soft, slow, encountering glance. In mutual contentment,
each to each, close as music to the strings of a violin, their spirits
clung--so lost, the one in the other, that neither for that brief time
seemed to know which was self.

In fulfilment of her resolution, Lady Valleys, who had returned to Town
by a morning train, started with Barbara for the Temple about three in
the after noon, and stopped at the doctor's on the way. The whole thing
would be much simpler if Eustace were fit to be moved at once to Valleys
House; and with much relief she found that the doctor saw no danger in
this course. The recovery had been remarka