Griefs hidden in the mind like treasures,
Will turn with time to solemn pleasures.


On the Monday morning, the two convalescents shook hands in the
waiting-room at the station, surveying each other rather curiously;
while Ethel, trying to conquer her trepidation, gave manifold
promises to Averil of care and correspondence.

Dr. Spencer acted escort, being far more serviceable on the railway
than his untravelled friend, whose lame arm, heedless head, and
aptitude for missing trains and mistaking luggage, made him a charge
rather than an assistant. He was always happiest among his patients
at home; and the world was still ill enough to employ him so fully,
that Ethel hoped to be less missed than usual. Indeed, she believed
that her absence would be good in teaching him Mary's full-grown
worth, and Mary would be in the full glory of notability in the
purification of the house.

The change was likewise for Dr. Spencer's good. He had almost broken
down in the height of the labour, and still looked older and thinner
for it; and after one night at Coombe, he was going to refresh
himself by one of his discursive tours.

He was in high spirits, and the pink of courtesy; extremely flattered
by the charge of Ethel, and making her the ostensible object of his
attention, to the relief of the boys, who were glad to be spared the
sense of prominent invalidism. The change was delightful to them.