VIII

When Ványalos had departed, Frodo spent a few moments tidying the kitchen before investigating what had been brought to stock it. He took the used glasses to the sink, and only then realized that had seen no sign of a well outside the house, and thus had no idea how water was to be obtained for cooking or cleaning or even drinking. There was, of course, the nearby stream, but it seemed to Frodo that it would not be terribly convenient as a water source, given where it was in relation to the outer doors. Moreover, he had seen no sign of a bucket or other carrying containers larger than a goblet anywhere in the house.

Perplexed, he looked more closely at the basin obviously meant for washing dishes and vegetables and such. The thing was shaped like a broad but deep shell and was quite lovely in design; on the wall above it was a curved handle, inlaid with pearl. There was no pitcher or bucket at hand for bringing the water to fill the basin, though there were towels and soap in a storage space beneath it. It was hard for him to imagine that whoever had built this place would miss providing something so necessary, so he began to wonder if here, there were other ways of obtaining water. In Minas Tirith, he remembered seeing places where it could be brought into a house without the need to haul it from stream or well. The pumps they had used were not wholly unfamiliar to Frodo, simply a bit surprising, seen inside a house. Perhaps, he reflected, the handle on this wall was a kind of pump handle. Noting that it was neither too high nor too far for him, he reached for it to see if it would move.

It did indeed, but not as a pump would. When he lifted it, water began to flow into the basin from unseen outlets concealed in the fluted curves of the inner shell. When he released it and let it fall back to its original position, the flow stopped, but the water remained. When he pressed down on it, equally hidden drains opened, and the water flowed away. If he turned the handle slightly in one direction while lifting it, the water that emerged was cool, but if he turned it the opposite way, it was quite comfortably heated, the perfect temperature for washing rather than drinking.

The hobbit chuckled his delight. “How very clever,” he approved, thinking how many more wonders he had yet to discover in this new world. More than he could imagine, he was sure. Pleased by that thought, he filled the basin sufficient to clean the goblets, used one of the soft towels to dry them, then put them back in the cupboard from which Ványalos had fetched them. That brief task finished, he set about inspecting the formerly empty storage places to see what had been brought to fill them. When he had satisfied himself that nothing important had been neglected, he recalled what Ványalos had said about others bringing the evening meal in what was now less than two hours, and decided he should see to washing himself and changing back into his day clothes before they arrived.

In the bathing room, there was a large tub on one side of the room, set into the floor so that one did not need to climb in, only to step down and settle into the water. Opposite it was a shallow basin on a pedestal, low enough for him to use comfortably, and both were filled by the same method as the kitchen sink. After he was finished and had made sure the room was left as clean as he had found it, he went to get changed. He did not relish the thought of using the same outfit for what felt like the third day in a row, but it simply could not be helped. Fortunately, he had done nothing strenuous in the clothes, and had managed not to soil them either at the feast or during the ride to Lórien. He wondered about such things as laundering facilities, but that was another matter for the future. At least he wasn't in the uncomfortable position of having nothing to wear but filthy rags, as had been the case on the day he had awakened after the end of his journey to Mordor.

When he was dressed, he estimated that an hour had passed since Ványalos had left. He felt reasonably certain Olórin would not want to be caught napping when the guests arrived, but neither did he wish to disturb him too soon. He decided to peek into the room where the wizard was resting and then make up his mind. The question was rendered academic when he opened the door just a crack, peered inside, and found his old friend already awake and seated on the edge of the bed. This room, Frodo noted, had clearly been arranged and furnished for the comfort of one of the Big Folk, and very nicely, from the look of things. A hobbit would have been quite lost on the Man-sized bed; the chairs and shelves and chests and drawers were all of a height suitable to one much taller than he. Olórin had removed the crystal circlet and set in on a small table near the bed, out of harm's way, and he had exchanged the white clothing made for him by the Valar for a long simple tunic of soft blue linen that fell halfway between his knees and his currently bare feet. He had been rubbing the remains of sleep from his eyes when Frodo opened the door; he looked up at the sound, and smiled.

The hobbit returned it. “I hope you rested well,” he said, opening the door more fully. “It's about an hour before sunset, I believe, but if you'd like, there are a few sweet biscuits left in the kitchen, along with some very nice wine. Your neighbor Ványalos stopped by to deliver provisions while you were asleep. And before you ask, no, he didn't wake me, he was being very quiet.”

Olórin laughed softly as he rose from the bed, stretching gracefully. “But not so quiet once he knew you were there, I'll wager. If I have ever known a person who loves to talk about anything and everything as much as a hobbit, it's Ványalos.”

“Well, I certainly didn't discourage him,” Frodo confessed with a small laugh of his own. “We had a very pleasant chat, and before he left, he told me that he and some others of your friends would be bringing the evening meal, around sunset. I think that should be in about an hour, so perhaps you won't wish to spoil your appetite.”

“Perhaps not, but I wouldn't want you to spoil yours by not having a proper hobbit snack before dinner. Did Ványalos bring enough of the right things to provide for you?”

“Oh, yes,” he was assured as they went back to the kitchen. “He said that tomorrow, he'd like to learn a bit about how hobbits cook, though I couldn't quite tell if he was serious or teasing.”

“He was serious. Another trait he shares with the Little Folk: he enjoys food and drink greatly, even though he does not need it, which is why I asked him to see to acquiring whatever you might need. Tonight, my other friends and neighbors will bring what are traditional things for a welcoming meal, much like what was served yesterday in Valmar, but simpler, and possibly more Elven than Ainu. A number of Teleri live in Lórien, and I was well acquainted with many of them before I was sent to Middle-earth.”

“So those who will be visiting tonight will be both Elves and other Maiar?” Frodo asked as he fetched the goblets he had just washed and set them back on the table, along with the remains of the wine and the biscuits.

The wizard nodded. “I suspect so. Some, like Ványalos, were unable to attend the full festival in Valmar because of other business, and others chose to spare me the shock of being greeted by everyone I know all in one evening. From what I heard last night, they are all quite eager to meet a halfling. At best, they have only heard tales about your people brought by Elves who sailed to the West, and none of the tales were long. Until Bilbo, your people had only occasional and very brief dealings with the Fair Folk. Were it not for your involvement in the matter of the Ring, they would likely have little more than polite interest in you. Given the role you played in the War, they are very curious indeed.”

“Then I hope they don't find me disappointing.”

Olórin dismissed that concern with a gesture. “Not likely, given how you were received by the Valar. My people understand quite well the matter of playing smaller, supporting parts in a much greater drama. It was what we were born to do, after all. We are not the Powers who performed the greatest shaping of Arda, only their servants. That we occasionally are called upon to perform more significant tasks does not change what we are, though some, like Saruman, became enamored of what they perceived to be their own high station. I never had any such illusion about myself, nor do my friends here in Aman.”

Frodo pondered this for a few moments, then spoke what was on his mind. “You know, before I came here, I thought that the people in the West were all above such pettiness, but I should have known better. I knew enough about the history of the old days to know that people are people, whether or not they're immortal. I suppose that given enough time, most folk would learn not to hurt or be cruel to one another, but not all do.”

He took a sip of his wine, then looked up at Olórin. “While you were asleep, Ványalos told me some things about you, and he wanted me to be sure that I let you know he had been the one who told me these things. I asked why you lived here in Lórien when you are actually one of Lord Manwë's servants, so he told me. Part of the tale concerned what had happened a long time ago with one of your folk called Aránayel.”

The Maia stiffened almost imperceptibly, setting down the goblet he had been holding. He sighed. “Fair enough. I know nearly all there is to know about you, and if you are to be my guest, there are some things it would be best for you to know about me, since they are common knowledge here. What did Ványalos tell you?”

“That you loved her very much, and that she was very cruel to you when she rejected you. He seemed to think that what you are now was very much the result of what you lived through because of what she did to you.”

Olórin reflected upon this for a moment, then nodded. “He's right. If I hadn't been hurt so badly in that way at that time, I might never have done some of the things I did in attempting to recover from it. We may each have a greater destiny in the Music, but because we are free to choose, we can refuse it, and let someone else play the part intended for us. Some of our greatest lessons and deepest wisdom have their roots in the pains we suffer, and that was beyond doubt the greatest pain I had ever known. In some ways, not even the betrayal of Saruman or my death struggle with the Balrog hurt me as deeply. It was the strength I found in the healing I sought after Aránayel's rejection that allowed me to endure much greater pains during my life in Endorë.” He looked at Frodo, his glance curious. “Is there a reason you mentioned this just now?”

The hobbit shrugged. “I suppose I thought of it because of what you said about people who become proud, like Saruman. I never knew you as anything but an old man, so I never imagined you might've lived through the things your friend told me. I don't think anyone in the Shire ever really thought about wizards as if they were real people. You were just another one of the Big Folk who came through from time to time, and if you were any different, to most hobbits' way of thinking, it was just that you stirred up a different kind of trouble. I'm afraid hobbits really do tend to view the world in very narrow ways, never looking beyond the bounds of the Shire, or ever thinking that other kinds of people can be just the same as they, or better. Those few of us who knew you knew the truth, of course, but even that didn't stop us from seeing only so far. Even when I knew you were more than just an old Man, I never quite made the connection and tried to imagine what you really were. And I certainly never stopped to think that you might have once been in love, like any other person. I'm rather ashamed to admit it, but I wasn't much better than the people who thought you were nothing but a nuisance.”

“Nonsense. How could you imagine something you had never seen or experienced? An Elf or a Dwarf or a Man is like you in enough ways that you can draw an image in your mind of what they might be like from stories and descriptions alone. But to try to imagine a person who in truth has no body, whose existence is quite different from your own... well, you simply don't have what is called a proper frame of reference. You may be able to imagine the Ainur as thoughts, because you know what it is to think, but to imagine us as living creatures without bodies would be quite difficult, since that is beyond your experience. To conceive of that and the fact that we can feel love and passion in some all-too-human ways...! No, you have nothing to be ashamed of. As I was in Middle-earth, there was no reason to wonder about such things, and some questions one avoids asking so as not to seem a busybody. I never asked you if you had ever been in love, after all.”

“No, you didn't,” Frodo admitted, his cheeks coloring faintly. “I suppose it was rude of me to talk about a private matter like this. I should have kept what I was told in confidence.”

But the Maia shook his head. “It truly is in the past, Frodo, well over and done with. I feel only pity for Aránayel now, a wish that she might someday let go of her pride and learn to treat others more kindly. I have no wish to be with her, since any love I once felt for her is gone, and will never return. But she did indeed help make me what I am, and it is good that you understand this, since the day may come when you will meet her.”

The halfling grimaced as he swallowed his mouthful of biscuit. “I'm not sure I would enjoy that. I'm afraid I would tend to think only of what she once did to you, and wouldn't be at all fair to her.”

“Possibly, but it may yet occur, and if it does, you would do well to remember how I feel toward her. Don't let the tales of a bitter injury that happened long ago distort your vision for what is now. As with Gollum, I suspect that if you ever chance to see her with your own eyes, you will understand why she is to be pitied, not despised.”

Frodo was quiet for a bit while he considered Olórin's words. At length, he sighed again. “You're right, of course,” he finally allowed. “And I will do my best to remember what you've told me. I was, you know. In love once, that is,” he added when the Maia regarded him with confusion. “When I was in my tweens and still quite a silly lad. Violet Bolger, the prettiest lass in Hobbiton — not that my cousin Angelica would have agreed, but I certainly thought so. I was terribly smitten with her, but was too shy to say anything. So I decided to take after Cousin Bilbo instead, and wrote her dozens of poems, none of them very good, I'm afraid. I'd hidden them away where I was quite sure no one would ever find them, but Bilbo came across them one day. I was mortified when he mentioned it to me, of course, but he was really very kind. He said that if I truly had such feelings for Violet, I should find a way to tell her, or I might wind up regretting it for the rest of my life.”

“And what happened?”

This time, the hobbit's sigh was much deeper. “Not what happened to you — fortunately. I think I would have died, if she'd treated me like that. We had been friends for years, and she was always very good to me, so I decided that the next time I saw her, I would try to say something. I rehearsed my speech over and over, so I wouldn't embarrass myself, and after a week or so, I was ready to give it a try. I met her at the market a few days later, and walked her home to help carry what she'd bought. She seemed very cheerful and happy, and once we were away from the market, I found out why. While I was off writing poetry in hidden corners, Munco Greenbriar, one of the hired hands on her father's farm, had been speaking to her more directly, and she'd very much enjoyed his company. He'd come of age a few days earlier, and had asked her father for Violet's hand the day after. Violet invited me to the wedding, and was very excited about the whole thing, and though I tried very hard to feel happy for her, I was rather heartbroken, too. It was my own fault for never saying the truth, and I really couldn't expect her to wait for me when she didn't even know how I felt. After that...”

He shrugged. “Well, I cannot say that I lost interest in finding a wife, but I simply didn't have the heart to go looking. After Bilbo left and I inherited Bag End, there were plenty of young women interested in catching my eye because I was well-off, but that certainly wasn't what I wanted from such a relationship. I eventually decided it just wasn't meant to be, for me. There was something more I needed, and I didn't understand what that could be, until I was on my way to Mordor to destroy the Ring. When I realized that this was what I was meant to do with my life, I was glad that there was no one I'd left behind who could be hurt if something went dreadfully wrong. It was bad enough, knowing that I had friends risking their lives to help me. If I'd come home to a wife and family, wounded and broken as I was, I would have felt that they were paying the most terrible price of all for what I'd had to do.”

“I understand,” the Maia said, briefly clasping his friend's nearer shoulder in sympathy. “If these were indeed the destinies fated for us from our beginnings, then it truly was best that those in our lives who would suffer if we were lost were not as close as our own kin. My folk do not have offspring — except for Melian, who took on physical life for a time to bear Elwë a daughter, Lúthien — but the emotional ties between those who take spouses are as deep as those between the Eruhíni and their mates and children. Had I completely failed of my task and returned in utter shame, I could not have borne the pain it would have caused to my wife, if I had had one. Lord Eru, I think, gave us those choices early in our lives so that we might have a chance to avoid even greater pain later on, for more than just ourselves. It is always easier to face what might be your end if you know there is no one who will feel abandoned or humiliated, should you lose.”

The Maia sipped his wine for a minute, his eyes glittering as thoughts flitted behind them. He smiled mischievously. “Violet Bolger, hmm? I remember her. You're right, she was quite a pretty young lady, very charming. Her father was one of the few members of his family who hadn't lost his head to the self-importance of his family name and reputation, still believed in putting in an honest day's work. She was much like him, as I recall, bright and cheerful but not proud. You might have done well together, had things not gone otherwise. I'm afraid if they had between Aránayel and myself, I would have regretted it greatly in the end.”

“I should daresay. Didn't you have any idea she could be such a heartless person?”

Olórin sighed as he twirled the stem of the goblet between his fingers. “I should have, but love is blind, as they say, and at the time, I was too inexperienced and naive to know better. There were enough warnings — from several of my other friends, in fact — but I did not want to see or hear them. You might say I was bewitched, both by her and myself. I wanted to believe that what I felt for her was true and that she was as beautiful in heart as she was in other ways. And she wanted me to believe anything that would allow her to continue to make use of me without obliging her in any way, even with simple gratitude. I did not believe she would feel as I did, but not even in my darkest dreams had I imagined that when I offered her my heart, she would rip it from me, crush it beneath her heel, and spit upon it. I knew I was far from the greatest of our people, that I was indeed quite likely the least — but even the least, I thought, was worthy of some small kindness, the politeness, perhaps, not to mock love that was earnestly given. I expected to be rejected. I did not expect it to come with such cruel humiliation. I have long since put it behind me, even though the memories still ache, from time to time. But I do not regret it, not any longer. I have changed and grown and learned much since then, and I am content with my life. The love of a spouse is only one kind of many, after all, and since we cannot have everything, losing that was really a small price to pay for all I have now.”

Frodo smiled back. “I agree — or I will more wholeheartedly, once I've grown accustomed to being here, and my homesickness has had more time to fade. I still feel echoes of the pain from my wounds from time to time, but ever since the ship landed, it never lasts for more than a moment. I certainly didn't expect that part of my troubles to heal so quickly. Is it part of the blessing of being here, do you think?”

“Not entirely,” Olórin said quietly, unable to lie. He regarded Frodo for a short time, an odd light in his eyes. “Do you know what today is, back in the Shire?” he asked.

Frodo tried to count up the time that had passed since their departure, then shook his head. “No, I lost track of the days some time ago. It was difficult, once we were on the ship.”

“Understandable. It's October the sixth.”

It took a moment before the importance of those words truly sank in. When they did, the hobbit looked up at Olórin, his face full of disbelief, but there was no doubt in the Maia's nod. “It can't be,” Frodo near-whispered. “Every time the anniversary of some terrible day comes round again, I felt equally terrible pain. Today I felt... nothing. Well, not quite nothing, only a twinge or two early this morning. I was thinking about the only other time I'd ridden on a horse, when Glorfindel sent me on ahead to cross the Ford and the Nazgûl were trying to catch me. My shoulder hurt for a moment, then you touched it and the pain disappeared. I wasn't sure if you'd done that on purpose, or if it was only a coincidence, but the same thing had happened when I was remembering Weathertop while we were watching the sunrise. It was your doing, wasn't it?”

“It was,” the wizard said gently. “I was not invading your thoughts, but I could feel what you felt, nonetheless, and I saw no reason you should suffer needlessly. Has your shoulder troubled you at all, otherwise?”

“No, not in the slightest. I couldn't have slept so peacefully this afternoon if I'd been bothered by it. Whatever you did must have cured it.”

But sad regret filled the Maia's eyes. “No. Estë's healing power fills this land and doubtless eased your discomforts, but to prevent you from suffering as you have before, someone had to divert it from you and take it upon themselves, so that you would not feel it. I did not want your first visit to my home to be a day filled with pain, so I did what I could to make certain that would not happen. Ványalos has helped me in this, since I did not yet have the strength to deal with it alone, and I did not wish for you to suffer a moment more than was necessary. Please forgive me if I have acted deceitfully. I meant only to do what was needed to make your first days in Aman joyful, not dark with shadow and grief.”

Frodo stared at him, sorting out all the greater implications of what he had just said. “Does this mean that in order for me to know peace and be free from pain, even here, someone else must suffer instead?”

Olórin let loose the breath he had been half-holding in a wistful sigh. “For the moment, yes.”

The halfling was appalled. “Then why did you ask me to come here? If I can find no true healing anywhere, I would rather have borne it alone and not burdened anyone else with it! Why didn't you tell me this?”

“Because until we arrived and today dawned, I did not know what would happen,” Olórin said plainly. “And please, Frodo, calm yourself, you are leaping to conclusions. I did not say you would never be properly healed; I said this was the only way to help you for the moment. Yes, I was responsible for diverting your pain today so you would not feel it — and so was Ványalos, who took on the task of protecting you willingly so that I could rest and regain some of my strength — but it is not as overwhelming to me as it has been to you. I am a Maia, not one born to a life in flesh. This shell in which I exist is fully under my command; if I so choose, there is no physical discomfort I ever need feel. That part of what I diverted from you has no effect on me. The suffering your wounds bring to your heart is far more grievous to me, but please believe me when I say I do not mind experiencing this to spare you. Because of what I am, I have abilities to deal with such things that mortals do not, and my long years of study with Lady Nienna and Lord Irmo have taught me how to cope with such bitter grief without being destroyed by it. To be honest, I have been grateful for this experience, because it has let me come to know you better, and all that you have endured these past three years. Since I was the one who nudged you onto this path, will you begrudge me the opportunity to know more fully all the results of my actions and suggestions?”

Frodo was quiet as he pondered what had been said; then he spoke, slowly. “No. But I had hoped to find more lasting healing. Will someone always need to do this so I need not suffer?”

The Istar shook his head emphatically, fair hair brushing his shoulders with each movement. “No. Lord Irmo is confident that a permanent solution can be found, and I believe he is right. It was my own choice to do this today, because of the unfortunate timing of the date and our arrival. I said nothing because I knew you would object, and I felt it wasn't worth an argument. I was not exaggerating when I said I am able to deal with this, Frodo, and though I might have been foolish enough to do so without help, Lord Irmo persuaded me to seek the aid of others, such as Ványalos. For all he appears somewhat flighty and overly light-hearted, Ványalos is quite adept at understanding the feelings of others, and doing what is needed to help when help is needed. After two thousand years of incarnate life and difficult labor in Middle-earth, I am not as strong as I was before, and it will take time before I recover fully.” His laugh was soft and rueful. “I am also in need of healing, though not as seriously as you. Perhaps I should have spoken to you before doing what I did, and if I erred in my judgment, I am sorry. I only wanted to be certain your first days here would be happy ones, untainted by any bitter shadows.”

Again, Frodo was quiet for a time before he answered. “You needn't be sorry,” he said at last, his eyes fixed on the liquid in his glass. “You did what you thought was best, and to be completely honest, I think you did the right thing, for the right reasons. If I'd had to endure another day of pain and darkness because of that old wound in my shoulder immediately after arriving here in Valinor, I would have thought the entire trip was in vain, and nothing would ever be able to give me relief. I probably wouldn't have been inclined to listen to reason, no matter who told me this would not be a permanent situation, that I could be healed in time. What you did....”

He looked up, caught Olórin's gaze with his own and held it. He smiled. “Whether you intended it or not, you just proved to me that things are different here, that it is possible for me to be healed. You couldn't help me back in Middle-earth; no one could. But today you did, and I never even realized it. If you can do that with such apparent ease, how much more can those of the Valar who are skilled in healing arts do for me? Oh, no, Olórin, you have no reason to be sorry. I'm grateful, even if I'm still a bit surprised by everything that's happened. Thank you, for all you've done today, and for telling me of it. I have real hope now, more than I had thought I would. And I'm glad you listened to Lord Irmo and found someone else to help you rather than exhaust yourself for my sake when you're still weak after all those years of being trapped in Middle-earth.”

He was quiet for another moment, thinking hard before speaking again. “You've told me what you and others have done. What will I need to do to help myself get better?”

The Maia returned his smile, grateful for his friend's understanding. “Lord Irmo and I discussed this, and we agreed that you will probably recover more quickly if you remain here in Lórien for a time, until your healing is well underway. You needn't stay here in my house; if you prefer, there are those who would happily assist you in acquiring a place of your own. But it did occur to me that you might feel uncomfortable spending so much time apart from Bilbo. Aside from being your kin, he is the only other hobbit here in Aman. If we were to ask him to visit, and he saw how like to the Shire this region can be, how difficult do you think it would be to persuade him to live here, for a while? It would do him good as well, and that way, neither of you would need feel like some kind of strange curiosity in our midst.”

Frodo laughed. “I suspect it wouldn't be difficult at all. Bilbo is used to being the only hobbit in a house full of Big Folk, but I know he missed the Shire while he lived in Rivendell. This would be all his wishes come true, I think. I will be glad to have him here, although I haven't felt nearly as out of place as I thought I would. After talking with people at the feast last night, and with Ványalos this afternoon, I'm beginning to see that the height of a person makes very little difference when it comes to the size of their heart. I cannot say what Bilbo might want to do, but for myself, I would like to stay here with you for a time, if you don't mind. I have always counted myself lucky to call you my friend, even when I didn't really know you well at all. I should like to have a chance to do that better.”

“You will always be welcome here, for as long as you wish to stay. I have never before had kin, and you and Bilbo have become as dear to me as any family I have ever seen among the Eruhíni. My house is yours, as you always opened your home to me in years gone by. I have only begun to repay some of the many favors and kindnesses I have long owed to both of you.”

Frodo did his best to keep from blushing at the words of praise. He was attempting to devise a way to politely shrug it off when the distant sound of voices singing drifted through the westward-facing windows of the kitchen. The sun, he noticed, was now very low in the sky, the shadows grown long and purple as the day's end drew nigh. “Are those your friends coming?” he wondered, trying to make out the words of the song, without success.

Olórin listened to the music on the breeze, then smiled softly. “Quite likely. If they follow custom, they will arrange whatever they have brought in the clearing outside the house, to watch the sunset and offer thanks for the day before sharing the meal. If you'd like to be there to greet them, go on ahead and wait for them on the porch. I'll be along in just a moment. Generally, we do not stand on ceremony for such simple occasions, but I would prefer not to greet them still dressed in a sleeping gown.”

The hobbit chuckled, thinking how visitors would have reacted to such an ill-mannered thing back in the Shire. “Of course, come when you're ready. I would have been nervous about doing this alone a few hours ago, but after meeting your friend Ványalos, I don't feel the least bit worried, anymore. In fact, I don't believe I'm going to mind living here at all, even if it's ‘til the end of the world!”

The Maia watched him as he headed off to the front door, eager to greet their guests. The sigh that escaped Olórin was faint, but full of sadness. “If only it could be so,” he whispered, echoes of his earlier conversation with Irmo suddenly murmuring through his thoughts. He shook his head as if to banish the unwanted specters, then went to exchange his night clothes for more suitable attire, and hopefully with it shed the feelings of a growing melancholy that had crept into his heart.