The garden was a sort of holy of holies to him, and he tended it, and planned for it, and worked in it more enthusiastically than he had ever done before.

This interest in common things was gratifying to Aunt Charlotte, who distrusted and discouraged his dwelling on what she called the uncanny side of life; but she was anxious, at the same time, that he should not overtax his strength, and gave secret orders to Lubin to see that the young master did not allow his ardour to outrun the dictates of discretion.
One afternoon, Austin, who was feeling unusually tired, was lying in an easy-chair in the drawing-room with a book.

He had been all the morning standing about in the garden, and after lunch Aunt Charlotte had put her foot down, and peremptorily forbidden him to go out any more that day.

Austin had tried to get up a small rebellion, protesting that there were a lot of jonquils to be planted, and that Lubin would be sure to stick them too close together if he were not there to look after him; but his aunt was firm, and Austin was compelled on this occasion to submit.

So there he lay, very calm and comfortable, while Aunt Charlotte knitted industriously, close by.
"You see, my dear, you're not strong--not nearly so strong as you ought to be," she said, as she glanced at his drawn face.