Mr. Sandys often looked in, but he seemed at first helpless in Howard's presence. Howard used to bestir himself to talk to him, with a sickening sense of unreality. Mr. Sandys took a very optimistic view of Maud's case; he assured Howard that he had seen the same thing a dozen times; she had great reserves of strength, he believed; it was but nature insisting upon rest and quiet. His talk became a sort of relief to Howard, because he refused to admit any possibility of ultimate disaster. No tragedy could keep Mr. Sandys silent; and Howard began to be aware that the Vicar must have thought out a series of topics to talk to him about, and even prepared the line of conversation beforehand. Jack had been sent for at the crisis, but when the imminent danger lessened, Howard suggested that he should go back to Cambridge, in which Jack gratefully acquiesced.
One day Mrs. Graves came suddenly in upon Howard, as he sate drearily trying to write some letters, and said, "There is a great improvement this morning. I went in to see her, and she has come back to herself; she mentioned your name, and the doctor says you can see her for a few minutes; she must not talk, but she is herself. You may just come and sit by her for a few minutes; it will be best to come at once."
Howard got up, and was seized by a sudden giddiness. He grasped his chair, and was aware that Mrs. Graves was looking at him anxiously.
"Can you manage it, dear boy?" she said. "You have had a great strain."
"Manage it?" said Howard, "why, it's new life. I shall be all right in a moment. Does she know what has happened?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Graves, "she knows all—it is you she is anxious about—she isn't thinking of herself at all."
Howard followed his aunt out of the room, feeling suddenly alert and strong. They entered the room; as they did so, Maud turned and looked at him—the faintest tinge of colour had returned to her face; she held out her hands to him, and let them fall again. Howard stepped quickly to the side of the bed, dropped on his knees, and took his wife in his arms. She nestled close to him for a moment, and then looked at him with a smile—then speaking in a very low voice, almost a whisper, she said:
"Yes, I know—you will help me, dearest; yes, I have come back to you—I have been wandering far away, with the child—you know—he wanted me, I think; but I have left him somewhere, safe, and I am sent back—I didn't think I could come back, but I had to choose; I have chosen . . ." her voice died away, and she looked long and anxiously at him. "You are not well," she said; "it is my fault."
"Ah, you must not talk, darling," said Howard; "we will talk later on; just let me be sure that you won't leave me—that is enough, that's all I want, just we two together again, and the dear child, ours for ever."
"The dear child," said Maud, "that is right—he is ours, beloved. I will tell you about him."