CHAPTER XXX.
O Yanna, Adrianna, They buried me away In the blue fathoms of the deep, Beyond the outer bay.
But in the Yule, O Yanna, Up from the round dim sea And reeling dungeons of the fog I am come back to thee! -- BLISS CARMAN.
Wentworth stood at the open window of the library watching Michael.
Michael was lying on a deck chair on the terrace playing with a puppy.
His face was losing a certain grey drawn look which it had worn since he had left prison.

He looked more like himself since his hair had time to grow.

Wentworth felt that he ought to be reassured about him, but a vague anxiety harassed him.
Suddenly, without a moment's warning, the puppy fell asleep.

Michael made a movement to reach it, but it was just beyond his grasp.
In an instant Wentworth was beside him, lifting the sleeping mass of sleek fat on to Michael's knee.

Michael's long hands made a little crib for it.
"He will sleep now for a bit," he said contentedly.
"Do _you_ sleep better ?" said Wentworth.