Bannisdale had begun to recover a certain boyish bloom, became again
white and drawn. The eyes were scarcely ever seen; if, by some rare
chance, the heavy lids did lift, the fire and brilliance of the gaze
below were startling to the bystander. But for the most part he seemed to
be wrapped in a dumb sickliness and pain; his person was even less
cleanly, his clothes less cared for, than before. At table he hardly
talked at all; never of painting, or of any topic connected with it.

* * * * *

Once or twice Laura caught Helbeck's look fixed upon his guest in what
seemed to her anxiety or perplexity. But when she carelessly asked him
what might be wrong with Mr. Williams, the Squire gave a decided answer.

"He is ill--and we ought not to have allowed him to do this work. There
must be complete rest till he goes."

"Has he seen his father?" asked Laura.

"No. That is still hanging over him."

"Does his father wish to see him?"

"No! But it is his duty to go."

"Why? That he may enjoy a little more martyrdom?"

Helbeck laughed and captured her hand.

"What penalty do I exact for that?"