“Indeed,” said the doctor to Maurice, at the foot of the stairs, as he was going away, “I should say that for the moment the delirium was quite gone.  But I did not speak much to him.  Quiet is the great thing—­sleep above all.”

Then Maurice told him what had happened during the day, and asked him whether, supposing they found Lionel quite sane and sensible, it would be advisable to tell him that Miss Ross was in the house, or even ask her to go and see him.

“Well, I should say not—­not unless he appears to be troubled again.  His present tranquillity of mind is everything that could be wished; I would not try any unnecessary experiment.  Probably he does not know now that he has even seen her.  Sometimes they have a vague recollection of something having happened; more frequently the whole thing is forgotten.  Wait till we see how the fever goes; when he is convalescent—­perhaps then.”

But Maurice, on his own responsibility, went into the sick-room after the doctor had left—­went in on tip-toe, lest Lionel should be asleep.  He was not asleep.  He looked at Mangan.

“Maurice, come here,” he said, in a hard-laboring voice.

“You’re not to talk, Linn,” his friend answered, with a fine affectation of carelessness.  “I merely looked in to see how you were getting on.  There’s no news.  The government seem to be in a mess, but even their own friends are ashamed of their vacillation.  They’re talking of still another lyric theatre; you’ll have to save up your voice, Linn—­by Jove! you fellows will be in tremendous request.  What else?  Oh, nothing.  There’s been a plucky thing done by a servant-girl in rescuing two children from a fire—­if there’s a little testimonial to her, I’m in with my humble guinea.  But there’s nothing in the papers—­I’m glad I’m not a leader-writer.”

He went and got some more water for a jug of white lilies that stood on the table, and began to put things a little straight—­as if he were a woman.

“Maurice!”

“You’re not to talk, Linn, I tell you!”

“I must—­just a word,” Lionel said, and Mangan was forced to listen.  “What does the doctor really say?”

“About you?—­oh, you’re going on first-rate!  Only you’ve to keep still and quiet and not trouble about anything.”

“What day is this?”

“Why, Tuesday.”

He thought for a little.

“It—­it was a Saturday I was taken ill?  I have forgotten so many things.  But—­but there’s this, Maurice; if anything happens to me—­the piano in the next room—­it belongs to me—­you will give that to Francie for her wedding-present.  I would have—­given her something more, but you know.  And if you ever hear of Nina Rossi, will you ask her to—­to take some of the things in a box you’ll find on the top of the piano—­they all belonged to her—­if she won’t take them all back, she must take some—­as a—­as a keepsake.  She ought to do that.  Perhaps she won’t think I treated her so badly—­when it’s all over—­”