The only comfort he received was in the presence of his aunt. She
alone seemed strong, almost serene, till he wondered if she was not
hard. She did not encourage him to speak of his fears: she talked
quietly about ordinary things, not demanding an answer; she saw the
doctors, whom Howard could not bear to see, and told him their
report. The fear changed its character as the days went on; Maud
would live, they thought; but to what extent she would regain her
strength they could not say, while her mental powers seemed in
abeyance.
Mr. Sandys often looked in, but he seemed at first helpless in
Howard's presence. Howard used to bestir himself to talk to him,
with a sickening sense of unreality. Mr. Sandys took a very
optimistic view of Maud's case; he assured Howard that he had seen
the same thing a dozen times; she had great reserves of strength,
he believed; it was but nature insisting upon rest and quiet. His
talk became a sort of relief to Howard, because he refused to admit
any possibility of ultimate disaster. No tragedy could keep Mr.
Sandys silent; and Howard began to be aware that the Vicar must
have thought out a series of topics to talk to him about, and even
prepared the line of conversation beforehand. Jack had been sent
for at the crisis, but when the imminent danger lessened, Howard
suggested that he should go back to Cambridge, in which Jack
gratefully acquiesced.
One day Mrs. Graves came suddenly in upon Howard, as he sate
drearily trying to write some letters, and said, "There is a great
improvement this morning.
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