"Ah, yes! disobedience--tacit deception--temper. Oh! they have brought their just punishment. But that letter!"

"I think it was to explain poor Frank's conduct at the races.

Perhaps, as the servants at Revelrig had no knowledge of you, it may have been returned, and my mother's letter have been left untouched.

I will see."

They knew they must not delay one another, and parted; Julius walking homewards by the Hall, where, alas! there was only one of the family able to move about the house, and she seldom left her patient.

Julius did, however, find her coming down-stairs with Dr. Worth, and little as he gathered that was reassuring in the physician's words, there was a wistful moisture about her eyes, a look altogether of having a bird in her bosom, which made him say, as the doctor hurried off, "Anne, some one must be better."

"Cecil is," she said; and he had nearly answered, "_only_ Cecil,"

but her eyes brimmed over suddenly, and she said, "I am so thankful!"

"Miles!" he exclaimed.

She handed him a telegram. The Salamanca was at Spithead; Miles telegraphed to her to join him.

"Miles come! Thank God! Does mother know?"

"Hush! no one does," and with a heaving breast she added, "I answered that I could not, and why, and that he must not come."

"No, I suppose he must not till he is free of his ship. My poor Anne!"

"Oh no! I know he is safe. I am glad! But the knowledge would tear your mother to pieces."

"Her soul is in Raymond now, and to be certain of Miles being at hand would be an unspeakable relief to him. Come and tell them."

"No, no, I can't!" she cried, with a sudden gush of emotion sweeping over her features, subdued instantly, but showing what it was to her. "You do it. Only don't let them bring him here."

And Anne flew to her fastness in Frank's attic, while Julius repaired to Raymond's room, and found him as usual lying tranquil, with his mother's chair so near that she could hand him the cool fruit or drink, or ring to summon other help. Their time together seemed to both a rest, and Julius always liked to look at their peaceful faces, after the numerous painful scenes he had to encounter. Raymond, too, was clinging to him, to his ministrations and his talk, as to nothing else save his mother. Raymond had always been upright and conscientious, but his religion had been chiefly duty and obligation, and it was only now that comfort or peace seemed to be growing out of it for him. As he looked up at his brother, he too saw the involuntary brightness that the tidings had produced, and said, "Is any one else better, Julius? I know Terry is; I am so glad for Rose."

"I asked Anne the same question," said Julius. "Mother, you will be more glad than tantalized. The Salamanca is come in."

Raymond made an inarticulate sound of infinite relief. His mother exclaimed, "He must not come here! But Frankie could not spare Anne to him. What will she do?"

"She will stay bravely by Frank," said Julius. "We must all wait till the ship is paid off."

"Of course," said Raymond. "If she can rejoice that he is out of danger, we will; I am content to know him near. It makes all much easier. And, mother, he will find all ready to own what a priceless treasure he sent before him in his wife."

There was the old note of pain in the comparison. Julius's heart was wrung as he thought of Sirenwood, with the sense that the victim was dying, the author of the evil recovering. He could only stifle the thought by turning away, and going to the table in his mother's adjacent room, where letters had accumulated unopened. 'On Her Majesty's Service' bore the post-mark which justified him in opening it, and enclosing the letter it contained to Miss Vivian.

He did so almost mechanically. He had gone through these weeks only by never daring to have a self. The only man of his family who could be effective; the only priest in the two infected parishes; he had steadfastly braced himself for the work. He ventured only to act and pray, never to talk, save for the consolation of others. To Wil'sbro' he daily gave two morning hours, for he never failed to be wanted either for the last rites, or for some case beyond Herbert's experience, as well as to see the Vicar, who was sinking fast, in a devout and resigned frame, which impressed while it perplexed his brother clergyman, in view of the glaring deficiencies so plain to others, but which never seemed to trouble his conscience.

The nursing-staff still consisted of the Sisters, Herbert Bowater, Mrs. Duncombe and her man-servant. Under their care, the virulence of the disease was somewhat abating, and the doctors ventured to say that after the next few days there would be much fewer fatal cases; but Water Lane was now a strangely silent place,--windows open, blinds flapping in the wind, no children playing about, and the 'Three Pigeons' remained the only public-house not shut up. It was like having the red cross on the door.

CHAPTER XXIX A Strange Night

Cold, cold with death, came up the tide In no manner of haste, Up to her knees, and up to her side, And up to her wicked waist; For the hand of the dead, and the heart of the dead, Are strong hasps they to hold.--G. MACDONALD

"Rector," said Herbert Bowater, "are you specially at home?"

"Why?" asked Julius, pausing.

"There's that man Gadley."

"Gadley! Is he down?"

"It seems that he has been ill this fortnight, but in the low, smouldering form; and he and that hostler of his kept it a secret, for fear of loss of gain, and hatred of doctors, parsons, Sisters, and authorities generally, until yesterday, when the hostler made off with all the money and the silver spoons. This morning early, a policeman, seeing the door open, went in, and found the poor wretch in a most frightful state, but quite sensible. I was passing as he came out to look for help, and I have been there mostly ever since.

He is dying--M'Vie says there's not a doubt of that, and he has got something on his mind. He says he has been living on Moy's hush- money all this time, for not bringing to light some embezzlement of your mother's money, and letting the blame light on that poor cousin of yours, Douglas."

Herbert was amazed at the lighting up of his Rector's worn, anxious face.

"Douglas! Thank Heaven! Herbert, we must get a magistrate at once to take the deposition!"

"What! Do you want to prosecute Moy?"

"No, but to clear Archie."

"I thought he was drowned?"

"No; that was all a mistake. Miles saw him at Natal. Herbert, this will be life and joy to your sister. What!--you did not know about Jenny and Archie?"

"Not I--Jenny!--poor old Joan! So that's what has stood in her way, and made her the jolliest of old sisters, is it? Poor old Joanie!

What! was she engaged to him?"

"Yes, much against your father's liking, though he had consented. I remember he forbade it to be spoken of,--and you were at school."

"And Joan was away nursing old Aunt Joan for two years. So Archie went off with this charge on him, and was thought to be lost! Whew!

How did she stand it? I say, does she know he is alive?"

"No, he forbade Miles to speak. No one knows but Miles and I, and our wives. Anne put us on the scent. Now, Herbert, I'll go to the poor man at once, and you had better find a magistrate."

"Whom can I find?" said Herbert. "There's my father away, and Raymond ill, and Lipscombe waved me off--wouldn't so much as speak to me for fear I should be infectious."

"You must get a town magistrate."

"Briggs is frantic since he lost his son, and Truelove thinks he has the fever, though Worth says it is all nonsense. There's nobody but Whitlock. Dear old Jenny! Well, there always was something different from other people in her, and I never guessed what it was.

I'd go to the end of the world to make her happy and get that patient look out of her eyes."

Herbert had nearly to fulfil this offer, for Mr. Whitlock was gone to London for the day, and magistrates were indeed scarce; but at last, after walking two miles out of the town, his vehemence and determination actually dragged in the unfortunate, timid justice of the peace who had avoided him in the road, but who could not refuse when told in strong earnest that the justification of an innocent man depended on his doing his duty.

Poor Mr. Lipscombe! The neglected 'Three Pigeons' was just now the worst place in all Water Lane. The little that had hastily been done since the morning seemed to have had no effect on the foetid atmosphere, even to Herbert's well accustomed nostrils; and what must it have been to a stranger, in spite of the open window and all the disinfectants? And, alas! the man had sunk into a sleep.

Julius, who still stood by him, had heard all he had to say to relieve his mind, all quite rationally, and had been trying to show him the need of making reparation by repeating all to a magistrate, when the drowsiness had fallen on him; and though the sound of feet roused him, it was to wander into the habitual defiance of authority, merging into terror.