'The young man is gone?'
'Yes, my Lord, to London.'
'And there is no danger of the like with Gus?'
'Oh no, my Lord. He's too like a sheep! and now his debt is paid—after the last concert—he's sure not to get into the same scrape again.'
'Thank you very sincerely,' said the Bishop. 'It is a great relief to me to know all this; and it is safe with me. I am only afraid I have made you talk more than is good for you.'
'And may I keep this, my Lord?' he wistfully asked.
'Indeed you may, my dear boy. If you have transgressed the letter of discipline, you have kept the spirit of charity. I am glad to keep you, as well as your voice. But I have tired you out.'
And laying a hand of blessing on his brow, the Bishop took leave, Wilmet going to the door with him, to answer his fears that the interview had been too much for her patient, with assurances that the relief and gratification must do good in the end.
He told her that the threat of the withholding of the prize had not been made by his authority, and that he had much regretted it. Just as the tidings of the sun-stroke and its cause had reached him, he had been with Mr. Nixon, the former Precentor, who had spoken warmly of Lance, saying that the whole tone of the boys had improved since his coming, though he was too much of a pickle ever to get the credit. Wilmet's pleasure was great; but before she could get back, Lance was nervously calling for her. The excitement was still great, his head was aching violently, and yet he could not leave off eager talking, which, as feverishness came on, began to degenerate into such rambling as terribly frightened Clement lest a relapse should be coming on. He wanted to hurry off to the doctor at once; but Wilmet, well knowing he would not be at home, repressed him, and quietly said she had some draughts ready, and knew what to do. While she was out of sight, preparing them, a great alarm came over the patient lest she should have left him; and all the rest of those noonday hours were spent in a continual restless desire to keep her in view, hold her hand, and elicit her assurances that she was not going home, nor going to leave him—no, not on any account. The very presence of his brother seemed to increase the uneasiness; and in the deepest humiliation and despair, Clement allowed himself to be invited away by Captain Harewood to see the process of ice-making, and be so far comforted that the Bishop's visit was probably far more likely to have done the mischief than his own rash suggestion, and that there was no reason to fear it would last many hours. In fact, Lance was recovering favourably, and had had few drawbacks. 'So I tell everybody,' said John Harewood, 'especially poor Bill, who is still ready to break his heart every time Lance has a headache, and would chatter him to death when he is better. And that's the way with them all! There seems no one that can be tender and reasonable both at once, except your sister.'
Clement did full justice to that tenderness, when, out of sight himself, he had watched Wilmet's soothing firmness and patient reassuring softness, at last calming the feverish agitation into a sleep, which he was allowed to see for himself was gentle and wholesome. Only then—towards four o'clock—could Captain Harewood persuade her to let him keep guard, while she went to take the food that had been long waiting for her, and over which she could hear Clement's penitent explanation of his own unlucky proposal.