Then he went away, and there was something in the manner of his
going which seemed to suggest that he did not wish to continue the
conversation.

From Anthony, however, Barbara soon learned the truth as to his brother.
His lungs were gone, for the chill he took in the Crimea had settled on
them, and now there was left to him but a little time to live. This was
sad news and marred the happiness of their meeting, since both of them
were far too unworldly to consider its effect upon their own prospects,
or that it would make easy that which had hitherto seemed impossible.

"Are you nursing him?" she asked.

"Yes, more or less. I took him to the South of England for two months,
but it did no good."

"I am glad the thing is not catching," she remarked, glancing at him.

"Oh, no," he replied carelessly, "I never heard that it was catching,
though some people say it runs in families. I hope not, I am sure, as
the poor old chap insists upon my sleeping in his room whenever I am at
home, as we used to do when we were boys."

Then their talk wandered elsewhere, for they had so much to say to each
other that it seemed doubtful if they would ever get to the end of it
all. Anthony was particularly anxious to learn what blessed circumstance
had caused Barbara's sudden re-appearance at Eastwich. She fenced for a
while, then told him all the truth.