Humphrey shook his head.
"Not for me. When's the wedding?"
"Third of November."
"I shall be there, and your—Cora Lintern will have a letter from me next week."
"You make me a happier man than you know, Humphrey."
"Let it rest then. I'll see you again o' Sunday."
They parted, and while one put on his hat and hastened with tremulous excitement to Undershaugh, the other breasted the hill homewards, and buttoned his coat to the wind which sent leaves flying in wild companies at the spinney edge by Beatland Corner.
The sick man rejoiced upon his way; the hale man went moodily.
"I can do no more," said Humphrey to himself. "He's a Baskerville, despite the grip of death on him. Perhaps I was a fool to tell him I didn't respect him. He'll think of it again when he's got time for thought by night, and 'twill rasp home."
Following upon this incident it seemed for a season that Nathan's health mended. His disease delayed a little upon its progress, and he even hoped in secret that his brother might be right and the physicians wrong. He flashed with a spark of his old fire. He whispered jokes that woke noisy laughter. In secret he ticked off the days that remained before Ned and Cora should be married.