Instead of contesting the point, Julius asked whether Miss Vivian were at home.

"No; that's the odd thing. I wrote, for M'Vie has no fear of infection, and poor Camilla is always calling for her, and that French maid has thought proper to fall ill, and we don't know what to do. Upper housemaid cut and run in a panic, cook dead drunk last night, not a servant in the house to be trusted. If it were not for my man Victor I don't know where I should be. Very odd what that child is about. Lady Susan can't be keeping it from her.

Unjustifiable!"

"She is with Lady Susan Strangeways?"

"Yes. Went with Bee and Conny. I was glad, for we can't afford to despise a good match, though I _was_ sorry for your brother."

"Do I understand you that she is engaged to Mr. Strangeways?"

"No, no; not yet. One always hears those things before they are true, and you see they are keeping her from us as if she belonged to them already. I call it unfeeling! I have just been to the post to see if there's a letter! Can't be anything wrong in the address,-- Revelrig, Cleveland, Yorkshire."

"Why don't you telegraph?"

"I shall, if I don't hear to-morrow morning."

But the morning's telegrams were baffling. None came in answer to Sir Harry, though he had bidden his daughter to telegraph back instantly; and two hospitals replied that they had no nurses to spare! This was the first thing Julius heard when he came to the committee-room. The second was that the only parish nurse had been found asleep under the influence of the port-wine intended for her patients, the third that there were five more deaths, one being Mrs.

Gadley, of the 'Three Pigeons,' from diphtheria, and fourteen more cases of fever were reported. Julius had already been with the schoolmistress, who was not expected to live through the day. He had found that Mrs. Duncombe had been up all night with one of the most miserable families, and only when her unpractised hands had cared for a little corpse, had been forced home by good Miss Slater for a little rest. He had also seen poor Mr. Fuller, who was too weak and wretched to say anything more than 'God help us, Charnock: you will do what you can;' and when Julius asked for his sanction to sending for Sisters, he answered, "Anything, anything."

The few members who had come to the committee were reduced to the same despairing consent, and Julius was allowed to despatch a telegram to St. Faith's, which had sent Sisters in the emergency at St. Awdry's. He likewise brought an offer, suggested by Raymond, of a great old tithe barn, his own property, but always rented by Mrs.

Poynsett, in a solitary field, where the uninfected children might be placed under good care, and the houses in Water Lane thus relieved. As to a fever hospital, Raymond had sent his advice to use the new town-hall itself. A word from him went a great way just then with the Town Council, and the doctors were delighted with the proposal.

Funds and contributions of bedding, clothing, food and wine were coming in, but hands were the difficulty. The adaptations of the town-hall and the bringing in of beds were done by one strong carpenter and Mrs. Duncombe's man Alexander, whom she had brought with her, and who proved an excellent orderly; and the few who would consent, or did not resist occupying the beds there, were carried in by Herbert Bowater and a strapping young doctor who had come down for this fever pasture. There Mrs. Duncombe and Miss Slater received them. No other volunteer had come to light willing to plunge into this perilous and disgusting abyss of misery; and among the afflicted families the power of nursing was indeed small.

However, the healthy children were carried away without much resistance, and established in the great barn under a trustworthy widow; and before night, two effective-looking Sisters were in charge at the hospital.

Still, however, no telegram, no letter, came from Eleonora Vivian.

Mr. M'Vie had found a nurse for Lady Tyrrell, but old Sir Harry rode in to meet every delivery of the post, and was half distracted at finding nothing from her; and Frank's murmurs of her name were most piteous to those who feared that, if he were ever clearly conscious again, it would only be to know how heavy had been the meed of his folly.

CHAPTER XXVIII The Retreat

What dost thou here, frail wanderer from thy task?--Christian Year

Eleonora Vivian was trying to fix her attention on writing out the meditation she had just heard from Dr. Easterby.

It had been a strange time. All externally was a great hush. There was perfect rest from the tumult of society, and from the harassing state of tacit resistance habitual to her. This was the holy quietude for which she had longed, yet where was the power to feel and profit by it? Did not the peace without only make her hear the storm within all the more?

A storm had truly been raging within ever since Conny Strangeways had triumphantly exhibited the prize she had won from Frank Charnock at the races; and Camilla had taken care that full and undeniable evidence should prove that this was not all that the young man had lost upon the Backsworth race-ground.

Lenore might guess, with her peculiarly painful intuition, who had been the tempter, but that did not lessen her severity towards the victim. In her resolution against a betting man, had she not trusted Frank too implicitly even to warn him of her vow? Nay, had she not felt him drifting from her all through the season, unjustly angered, unworthily distrustful, easily led astray? All the misgivings that had fretted her at intervals and then cleared away seemed to gather into one conviction--Frank had failed her!

Eleonora's nature was one to resent before grieving. Her spirit was too high to break down under the first shock, and she carried her head proudly to the ball, betraying by no outward sign the stern despair of her heart, as she listened to the gay chatter of her companions, and with unflinching severity she carried out that judicial reply to Frank which she had already prepared, and then guarded herself among numerous partners against remonstrance or explanation. It had been all one whirl of bewilderment; Lady Tyrrell tired, and making the girls' intended journey on the morrow a plea for early departure; and the Strangeways, though dancing indefatigably, and laughing at fatigue, coming away as soon as they saw she really wished it. All said good night and good-bye together, both to Lady Tyrrell and Sir Harry, and Lenore started at ten o'clock without having seen either. Her sense of heroism lasted till after the glimpse of Frank on the road. Her mood was of bitter disappointment and indignation. Frank was given up, but not less so were her father, her sister, and the world. Sir Harry had made Camilla suffice to him, he did not want her. He had been the means of perverting Frank, and Lenore could not see that she need any longer be bound for his sake to the life she detested. In a few weeks she would be of age, and what would then prevent her from finding a congenial home in the Sisterhood, since such kindred could have no just claim to her allegiance? It was the hasty determination of one who had suffered a tacit persecution for three years, and was now smarting under the cruellest of blows. Her lover perverted, her conditions broken, her pledge gambled away, and all this the work of her father and sister!

Conny and Bee thought her grave and more silent than usual, and when Lady Susan met them in London there was no time for thought.

Saturday was spent on a harvest festival at a suburban church, after which the daughters were despatched to their uncle's by a late train. Sunday was spent in the pursuit of remarkable services; and on Monday Lady Susan and Eleonora had gone to St. Faith's and the Retreat began.

Here was to be the longed-for rest, for which she had thirsted all the more through those days of hurry and of religious spectacles, as she felt that, be they what they might to their regular attendants, to her, as an outsider, they could be but sights, into whose spirit her sick and wearied soul could not enter.

Here was no outward disturbance, no claim from the world, no importunate chatter, only religious services in their quietest, most unobtrusive form; and Dr. Easterby's low tender tones, leading his silent listeners to deep heart-searchings, earnest thoughts, and steadfast resolutions.

Ah! so no doubt it was with many; but Lena, with book and pen, was dismayed to find that the one thing she recollected was the question, "Friend, how camest thou in hither?" After that, she had only heard her own thoughts. Her mind had lapsed into one vague apprehension of the effects of having cut off all communication with home, imaginings of Frank's despair, relentings of pity, all broken by dismay at her own involuntary hypocrisy in bringing such thoughts into the Retreat. Had she any right to be there at all? Was not a thing that should have been for her peace become to her an occasion of falling?

It was Thursday evening, and on the morrow there would be the opportunity of private interviews with Dr. Easterby. She longed for the moment, chiefly to free herself from the sense of deception that had all this time seemed to vitiate her religious exercises, deafen her ears, and blow aside her prayers. There was a touch on her shoulder, and one of the Sisters who had received the ladies said, interrogatively, "Miss Vivian? The Mother would be obliged if you would come to her room."

The general hush prevented Lenore from manifesting her extreme agitation, and she moved with as quiet a step as she could command, though trembling from head to foot. In the room to which she came stood the Superior and Dr. Easterby, and a yellow telegram-paper lay on the table.

"My father?" she asked.

"No," said the Superior, kindly, "it is your sister, who is ill.

Here is the telegram--"

"Sister Margaret to the Mother Superior, St. Faith's, Dearport.

Lady Tyrrell has the fever. Miss Vivian much needed.

"Wils'bro, Sept. 26th, 5.30."

"The fever!" She looked up bewildered, and the Superior added--

"You did not know of a fever at Wil'sbro'? Some of our nursing Sisters were telegraphed for, and went down yesterday. I was sorry to send Sister Margaret away just when her mother and you are here; but she was the only available head, and the need seemed great."

"I have heard nothing since I left home on Friday," said Eleonora, hoarsely. "It is my own fault. They think I am at Revelrig."

"Your family do not know you are here?" said the Superior, gravely.

"It was very wrong," she said. "This is the punishment. I must go.

Can I?"

"Surely, as soon as there is a train," said the Superior, beginning to look for a Bradshaw; while Dr. Easterby gave Lenore a chair, and bade her sit down. She looked up at his kind face, and asked whether he had heard of this fever.

"On Sunday evening, some friends who came out from Backsworth to our evening service spoke of an outbreak of fever at Wil'sbro', and said that several of the Charnock family were ill. I have had this card since from young Mr. Bowater:--

"T. F. in severe form. J. C. well, but both his brothers are down in it, and Lady K.'s brother, also Lady T. and the Vicar.

No one to do anything; we have taken charge of Wil'sbro'. I have no time to do more than thank you for unspeakable kindness. H.

B."

"You knew?" exclaimed Lenore, as she saw her sister's initial.

"I knew Lady Tyrrell was ill, but I do not know who the ladies are whom I address. I did not guess that you were here," said Dr.

Easterby, gently.

No one living near Backsworth could fail to know Sir Harry Vivian's reputation, so that the master of Rood House knew far better than the Superior of St. Faith's how much excuse Lenore's evasion might have; but whatever could seem like tampering with young people was most distressing to the Sisters, and the Mother was more grave than pitiful.

There was no train till the mail at night, and there would be two hours to wait in London; but Lenore would listen to no entreaties to wait till morning, and as they saw that she had plenty of health and strength, they did not press her, though the Superior would send a nurse with her, who, if not needed at Sirenwood, might work in Water Lane. It was thought best not to distract Lady Susan, and Lenore was relieved not to have her vehement regret and fussy cares about her; but there were still two hours to be spent before starting, and in these Dr. Easterby was the kindest of comforters.