But this was more than a good coachman could permit for his horses'

sake, and Brown declared they must be fed and rested before the ball. Cecil was ready to give up the ball, but still they could not be taken back at once; and Rosamond had by this time turned as if setting her face to walk at once to the race-ground until she found her child, when Raymond said, "Rose! would you be afraid to trust to King Coal and me? I would put him in at once and drive you till you find Julia."

"Oh! Raymond, how good you are!"

The coachman, glad of this solution, only waited to pick up Anne, and hurried on his horses, while the bachelor friend could not help grunting a little, and observing that it was plain there was only one child in the family, and that he would take any bet 'it' was at home all right long before Poynsett reached the parsonage.

"Maybe so," said Raymond, "but I would do anything rather than leave her mother in the distress you take so easily."

"Besides, there's every chance of her being taken to that low public-house," said Cecil. "One that Mr. Poynsett would not allow our servants to go to during the bazaar, though it is close to the town-hall, and all the others did."

"Let us hope that early influence may prevent contamination,"

solemnly said the friend.

Cecil turned from him. "I still hope she may be at home," she said; "it is getting very chill and foggy. Raymond, I hope you may not have to go."

"You must lie down and get thoroughly rested," he said, as he helped her out; and only waiting to equip himself for the evening dance, he hurried to the stables to expedite the harnessing of the powerful and fiery steed which had as yet been only experimentally driven by himself and the coachman.

Rosamond was watching, and when King Coal was with difficulty pulled up, she made but one spring to the seat of the dog-cart; and Julius, who was tucking in the rug, had to leap back to save his foot, so instantaneous was the dash forward. They went like the wind, Rosamond not caring to speak, and Raymond had quite enough on his hands to be glad not to be required to talk, while he steered through the numerous vehicles they met, and she scanned them anxiously for the outline of Emma's hat. At last they reached Wil'sbro', where, as they came to the entrance of Water Lane, Rosamond, through the hazy gaslight, declared that she saw a tax- cart at the door of the 'Three Pigeons,' and Raymond, albeit uncertain whether it were _the_ tax-cart, could only turn down the lane at her bidding, with difficulty preventing King Coal from running his nose into the vehicle. Something like an infant's cry was heard through the open door, and before he knew what she was about, Rosamond was on the pavement and had rushed into the house; and while he was signing to a man to take the horse's head, she was out again, the gaslight catching her eyes so that they glared like a tigress's, her child in her arms, and a whole Babel of explaining tongues behind her. How she did it neither she nor Raymond ever knew, but in a second she had flown to her perch, saying hoarsely, "Drive me to Dr. Worth's. They were drugging her. I don't know whether I was in time. No, not a word"--(this to those behind)-- "never let me see any of you again."

King Coal prevented all further words of explanation by dancing round, so that Raymond was rejoiced at finding that nobody was run over. They were off again instantly, while Rosamond vehemently clasped the child, which was sobbing out a feeble sound, as if quite spent with crying, but without which the mother seemed dissatisfied, for she moved the poor little thing about if it ceased for a moment.

They were soon within Dr. Worth's iron gates, where Raymond could give the horse to a servant, help his sister-in-law down, and speak for her; for at first she only held up the phial she had clutched, and gazed at the doctor speechlessly.

He looked well both at the bottle and the baby while Raymond spoke, and then said, "Are you sure she took any, Lady Rosamond?"

"Quite, quite sure!" cried Rosamond. "The spoon was at her lips, the dear little helpless darling!"

"Well, then," said the doctor, dryly, "it only remains to be proved whether an aristocratic baby can bear popular treatment. I dare say some hundred unlucky infants have been lugged out to the race-course to-day, and come back squalling their hearts out with fatigue and hunger, and I'll be bound that nine-tenths are lulled with this very sedative, and will be none the worse."

"Then you do not think it will hurt her?"

"So far from it, that, under the circumstances, it was the best thing she could have. She has plainly been exhausted, and though I would not exactly recommend the practice in your nursery, I doubt if she could have taken nourishment till she had been composed. She will sleep for an hour or two, and by that time you can get her home, and feed her as usual. I should be more anxious about Lady Rosamond herself," he added, turning to Raymond. "She looks completely worn out. Let me order you a basin of soup."

But Rosamond would not hear of it, she must get baby home directly.

Raymond advised a fly, but it was recollected that none was attainable between the races and the ball, so the little one was muffled in shawls and cloaks almost to suffocation, and the doctor forced a glass of wine on her mother, and promised to look in the next day. Still they had a delay at the door, caused by the penitent Emma and her aunt, bent on telling how far they had been from intending any harm; how Emma, when carrying the baby out, had been over-persuaded by the cousins she had never disappointed before; how they had faithfully promised to take her home early, long before my lady's return; how she had taken baby's bottle, but how it had got broken; how impossible it had been to move off the ground in the throng; and how the poor baby's inconsolable cries had caused the young nurse to turn aside to see whether her aunt could find anything to prevent her from screaming herself into convulsions.

Nothing but the most determined volubility on Mrs. Gadley's part could have poured this into the ears of Raymond; Rosamond either could not or would not heed, pushed forward, past the weeping Emma, and pulled away her dress with a shudder, when there was an attempt to draw her back and make her listen.

"Don't, girl," said Raymond. "Don't you see that Lady Rosamond can't attend to you? If you have anything to say, you must come another time. You've done quite enough mischief for the present."

"Yes," said the doctor, "tell your brother to put them both to bed, and keep them quiet. I should like to prescribe the same for you, Mr. Poynsett; you don't look the thing, and I suppose you are going to take the ball by way of remedy."

Raymond thanked the doctor, but was too much employed in enveloping his passengers to make further reply.

It was quite dark, and the fog had turned to misty rain, soft and still, but all pervading, and Rosamond found it impossible to hold up an umbrella as well as to guard the baby, who was the only passenger not soaked and dripping by the time they were among the lighted windows of the village.

"Oh, Raymond! Raymond!" she then said, in a husky dreamy voice, "how good and kind you have been. I know there was something that would make you very, very glad!"

"Is there?" he said. "I have not met with anything to make me glad for a long time past!"

"And I don't seem able to recollect what it was, or even if I ought to tell," said Rosamond, in the same faint, bewildered voice, which made Raymond very glad they were at the gate, where stood Julius.

But before Rosamond would descend into her husband's arms, she opened all her child's mufflings, saying, "Kiss her, kiss her, Raymond--how she shall love you!" And when he had obeyed, and Rosamond had handed the little one down to her father, she pressed her own wet cheek against his dripping beard and moustache, and exclaimed, "I'll never forget your goodness. Have you got her safe, Julius? I'll never, never go anywhere again!"

CHAPTER XXV The Pebbles

O no, no, no; 'tis true. Here, take this too; It is a basilisk unto mine eye, Kills me to look on't. Let there be no honour, Where there is beauty; truth, where semblance; love, Where there's another man.--Cymbeline

When Julius, according to custom, opened his study shutters, at half-past six, to a bright sunrise, his eldest brother stood before the window. "Well, how are they?" he said.

"All right, thank you; the child woke, had some food, and slept well and naturally after it; and Rose has been quite comfortable and at rest since midnight. You saved us from a great deal, Raymond."

"Ah!" with a sound of deep relief; "may Julia only turn out as sweet a piece of womanhood as her mother. Julius, I never understood half what that dear wife of yours was till yesterday."

"I was forced to cut our gratitude very short," said Julius, laying his hand on his brother's shoulder. "You know I've always taken your kindness as a matter of course."

"I should think so," said Raymond, the more moved of the two. "I tell you, Julius, that Rosamond was to me the only redeeming element in the day. I wanted to know whether you could walk with me to ask after that poor girl; I hear she came home one with her grandmother."

"Gladly," said Julius. "I ought to have gone last night; but what with Rose, and the baby, and Terry, I am afraid I forgot everything." He disappeared, and presently issued from the front door in his broad hat, while Raymond inquired for Terry.

"He is asleep now, but he has been very restless, and there is something about him I don't like. Did not Worth say he would come and look at the baby?"

"Yes, but chiefly to pacify Rosamond, about whom he was the most uneasy."

"She is quite herself now; but you look overdone, Raymond. Have you had any sleep?"

"I have not lain down. When we came home at four o'clock, Cecil was quite knocked up, excited and hysterical. Her maid advised me to leave her to her; so I took a bath, and came down to wait for you."

Julius would have liked to see the maid who could have soothed his Rosamond last night without him! He only said, however, "Is Frank come down? My mother rather expected him."

"Yes, he came to the race-ground."

"Indeed! He was not with you when you came back, or were we not sufficiently rational to see him?"

"Duncombe gave a dinner at the hotel, and carried him off to it.

I'm mortally afraid there's something amiss in that quarter. What, didn't you know that Duncombe's filly failed?"

"No, indeed, I did not."

"The town was ringing with it. Beaten out-and-out by Fair Phyllida!

a beast that took them all by surprise--nothing to look at--but causing, I fancy, a good deal of distress. They say the Duncombes will be done for. I only wish Frank was clear; but that unhappy engagement has thrown him in with Sir Harry's set, and he was with them all day--hardly spoke to me. To a fellow like him, a veteran scamp like old Vivian, with his benignant looks, is ten times more dangerous than men of his own age. However, having done the damage, they seem to have thrown him off. Miss Vivian would not speak to him at the ball."

"Eleonora! I don't know how to think it!"