All her life long Audrey never forgot that long weary journey. The lateness of the hour compelled her to take a circuitous route to London.

Dr. Ross accompanied her part of the way, and did not leave her until he placed her under the care of the guard, who promised to keep the compartment for her.

'You will be all right now, Audrey,' he said, with a poor attempt at cheerfulness. 'I have tipped the guard half-a-crown--a piece of extravagance on my part, I believe, as you only stop once between this and King's Cross, and Michael will meet you at the other end. G.o.d bless you, my child!' he continued, with deeper feeling, as the train began to move. 'Give my love to Cyril, and try and trust him to his Heavenly Father.'

'I will try, dear father,' was Audrey's answer.

And then she leant back on her seat and attempted to pray; but she only found herself repeating over and over again the same pet.i.tion--that she might be in time; for Michael's message, so carefully worded, had read to her like Cyril's death-warrant. 'He will die,' she had said with tearless eyes to her father, as she had carried him the telegram.

It was eleven o'clock before she reached King's Cross; but before the train stopped she could see Michael standing alone under a gas-lamp, and before he discerned her she was beside him.

'Am I in time, Michael?'

Then he started, and drew her hand through his arm.

'Quite in time, dear; he has still a few hours to live.'

For he saw at once that she was prepared for the worst.

'That is well,' she replied calmly; 'let us go.'

And then Michael handed her into the hansom.

How pale she was, he thought, and how sad those dear gray eyes looked, as she turned to him and asked that question that he so dreaded to hear!

'We are out of the station now, and I can hear better. What was the accident, Michael? How did it all happen? Tell me everything, please.'

Then, as far as he was able, he told her all, and she heard him very quietly, though once he felt the shudder that pa.s.sed through her when she first understood the nature of the terrible thing that had happened.

'Abercrombie saw it all from the first,' he went on; 'he said he never saw anything so splendidly done. Not a man in a thousand would have ventured it. What did I tell you, Audrey?--that Blake was just the fellow to win the Victoria Cross.'

'He was very brave,' she murmured; but she trembled all over as she spoke.

'He was more than brave. What was my action in Zululand compared to his?

He stepped into the jaws of death quietly, and with his eyes opened, for he must have known that two could not have been saved. He has given his n.o.ble life for a wretched worthless one. It sounds inhuman to say it, but who would have mourned if that poor old man had been swept away?

Would it not have been better if he had left him to his fate?'

'You must not say that!' returned Audrey. And now the tears were running down her face. 'It is this that makes it so n.o.ble, so Christ-like--a life laid down out of love and pity for the worthless. My brave Cyril!

Who is more fit to go than he? Ah, I knew him so well; he is very reserved; he is not one to speak of religion--very few young men do; he never liked to do so; but in a simple, manly way he has tried to live it. I always knew he was good. Yes, Michael, it was better for him to give up his fresh young life than for that old man to die in his sins.'

He could not steady his voice to answer her. Would any other girl have taken it in this way? He felt there were depths in her nature that he had not fathomed yet. The n.o.bleness of the action seemed to lift her up out of her grief. The heroic death was a fit ending to that brave life, short as it was.

There were a few minutes' silence, during which she wept quietly, and then she roused herself to ask after Mrs. Blake. A deeper shade pa.s.sed over Michael's face as she put the question.

'Poor soul!' he returned in a grieved voice; 'I fear it will go very hardly with her. Abercrombie tried to say a word to her about her son's hopeless condition, but she dropped at his feet like a dead thing. I had to leave him with her, and go back to poor Blake, as he was asking for her. I am afraid Abercrombie had to be very stern with her, for by and by she crept in quietly enough, and sat down beside him. When I left he was talking to her, but I do not believe that she understood a word that he said; she looks as though she has been turned to stone.'

Audrey sighed, and a moment afterwards she said a little wearily:

'Oh, how slowly we are going! Shall we ever be there?'

Then Michael took her hand gently in his; she was so patient, so good: if only he could comfort her!

'We have a very fast horse, and a capital driver. Yes, we shall be there soon now. Your journey must have tired you, dear. I wish someone could have come with you.'

'Father wanted to do so, but I told him I would rather be alone. Never mind about me, Michael; what does it matter if I am tired or not? If I could only be with him! but the time is pa.s.sing so!' Then, as she saw the pained look on Michael's face, she said in a low voice: 'Don't be too sorry for me; it is hard--very hard--but we must only think of him;'

and then she did not speak again until the hansom stopped.

Mollie was on the watch, for the door opened before they had alighted; but as she flung her arms round Audrey with a tearful welcome, the latter gently disengaged herself.

'Do not keep me, dear Mollie; let me go to him.'

'Yes, you shall go to him, dear Miss Ross; he is a little better just now; at least, he does not suffer so much. I wish mamma could speak to him, but she only sits there sighing as though her heart would break, and it must be so sad for Cyril to hear it. That is the door; you can go in;' and Audrey needed no more.

A tall, gray-haired man stood aside to let her pa.s.s, but it may be doubted whether she even saw him, any more than she noticed that rigid figure at the foot of the bed. Audrey saw nothing but that death-like face on the pillow, and the glad light in Cyril's eyes, as she went straight to him, and kneeling down beside him, kissed his lips.

'My poor Cyril! My poor, dear Cyril!' she said in a voice that was heavenly in its sweetness to him.

'No, not poor now,' he whispered, as he moved his head until it rested on her breast. 'My darling, it is worth even this to see you again. If you could only know what these five months have been to me!'

He spoke in a voice so low and feeble that only she could hear him. Mrs.

Blake did not move as Audrey entered; her eyes were fixed on her boy's face. They seemed the only living things about her. From time to time, even in his awful suffering, he had struggled to say a word to her, but she had scarcely answered him, though now and then a low moan issued from her lips.

'I could not have borne it much longer,' he went on, as in her mute sympathy Audrey rested her face against his cold, damp forehead; 'the life was killing me. How was a man to live without hope? And I had no hope.'

'I should always have loved you,' she said simply.

'Yes, my own faithful one; but even your love, precious as it was, could not have consoled me for the unnatural loneliness that was my lot. The very knowledge that you were mine and that I could never claim you seemed to add a deep bitterness to my grief. Do not let us speak of that dreary time, my darling; it is gone now, and it is come to this: that I thank G.o.d that I lie here with only a few hours to live.'

'Oh, Cyril! for your mother's sake, do not say this!'

'She does not hear us,' he replied; 'she seems to take no notice of anything. Poor, dear mother! I am sorry for her!'

'And not for me!' Audrey's unselfishness could not refrain from that low cry.

'No, not for you,' he returned tenderly. 'It is better, far better, for you, my darling, that things are ending thus. Why should you have wasted your sweet life for me, Audrey? I could not have borne the sacrifice. In a little while I should have written to you, and begged you to give me up.'

'There would have been no use in writing such a letter.'

Then he smiled happily, as though even on his dying bed it gave him pleasure to hear that.

'Cyril, you must not talk; Michael says it hurts you.'

'No, not quite so much now; somehow the pain seems easier, and it is such a relief to say all this. Does it make you unhappy, darling?'

'Not if it gives you comfort; you may say anything--anything--to me.'

'I only wanted to tell you that it is all right. I am glad I did it. I have not done much for Him all my life,' dropping his voice reverently, and she knew what he meant. '"Inasmuch"--how does that go on, Audrey?'

Then she softly repeated the words: