“Cuthbert!” he said suddenly.
“Yes,” said Cuthbert, quietly. “What is it? Want something?”
“Help me up, please. I want to look out of the window.”
They were the old imperative tones, and Cuthbert cautiously put his arm round him, and raised him a little. Guy looked out at the sunny garden, at the wooded hills, all round the room, and then up into Cuthbert’s face.
“Yes!” he said, “I thought so. The spectre’s gone.”
“That’s a good thing,” said Cuthbert; “but now you must be very still and quiet. Lie back again. You’re much better.”
“How’s Jem?” said Guy, after a minute.
“Well, he had a chill, you know; but he’s safe at home with his mother.”
“Oh,” said Guy, with a long breath, “the room looks so nice and natural! I’ve been looking at it for hours!” Then, “Don’t have that bridge mended. It must be in a new place.”
“You recollect all about its being broken?” said Cuthbert.