"Only," said Herbert anxiously, "I suppose this is not catching for dogs. You'll make a home for him Lady Rose?" he added. "I should like you to have him, and he'll be happier with you than with any one else."

"Herbert, I can't have you talk of that."

"Very well," he said, quietly. "Only you will keep my dear old fellow--I've had him from a puppy--and he is but three years old now."

Rosamond gave all promises, from her full heart, as she fondled the soft, wise black head.

Herbert was unhappy too about Mrs. Hornblower's trouble. Harry had been one of the slighter cases, and was still in his room, a good deal subdued by the illness, and by the attention the lodger had shown him; for Herbert had spent many hours, when he had been supposed to be resting, in relieving Mrs. Hornblower, and she was now in a flood of gratitude, only longing to do everything for him herself. Had he not, as she declared, saved her son, body and soul?

The most welcome sight was Julius, who came down in dismay as soon as he could leave the Hall. "I am so glad," said the patient; "I want to talk things over while my head is clearer than it ever may be again."

"Don't begin by desponding. These fevers are much less severe now than six weeks ago."

"Yes; but they always go the hardest with the great big strong young fellows. I've buried twelve young men out of the whole forty-five."

"Poor lads, I doubt if their life had been such a preparation as yours."

"Don't talk of my life. A stewardship I never set myself to contemplate, and so utterly failed in. I've got nothing to carry to my God but broken vows and a wasted year."

"Nothing can be brought but repentance."

"Yes, but look at others who have tried, felt their duties, and cared for souls; while I thought only of my vows as a restraint, and tried how much pleasure I could get in spite of them. A pretty story of all the ministry I shall ever have."

"These last weeks!"

"Common humanity--nonsense! I should always have done as much; besides, I was crippled everywhere, not merely by want of power as a priest, but by having made myself such a shallow, thoughtless ass.

But that was not what I wanted to say. It was about Gadley and his confession."

"O, Herbert! I am afraid I was very unkind that night. I did not think of anything but our own trouble, nor see how much it had cost you."

"Of course not--nonsense. You had enough to think of yourself, and I was only ashamed of having bored you."

"And when I think of the state of that room, I am afraid it was then you took in the poison."

"Don't say _afraid_. If it was for Jenny, I shall have done some good in the world. But the thing is--is it good? Will it clear Douglas? I suppose what he said to you was under seal of confession?"

"Scarcely so, technically; but when a man unburthens himself on his death-bed, and then, so far from consenting, shows terror and dismay at the notion of his words being taken down as evidence, it seems to me hardly right or honourable to make use of them--though it would right a great wrong. But what did you get from him?"

"I gave Lady Rose the paper. He raved most horribly for an hour or two, as if all the foul talk of his pot-house had got into his brain," said Herbert, with a shudder. "Rector, Rector, pray for me, that I mayn't come out with _that_ at any rate. It has haunted me ever since. Well, at last he slept, and woke up sinking but conscious, knew me, and began to ask if this was death, and was frightened, clutching at me, and asking to be held, and what he could do. I told him at least he could undo a wrong, if he would only authorize us to use what he said to clear Douglas; and then, as Sister Margaret had come across, I wrote as well as I could: "George Gadley authorizes what he said to the Rev. Julius Charnock to be used as evidence;" and I suppose he saw us sign it, if he could see at all, for his sight was nearly gone."

Julius drew a long breath.

"And now, what was it?" said Herbert.

"Well, the trio--Moy, young Proudfoot, and Tom Vivian--detained a letter of my mother's, with a cheque in it, and threw the blame of it on Archie Douglas. They thought no one was in the office but themselves; but Gadley was a clerk there, and was in the outer room, where he heard all. He came to Moy afterwards, and has been preying on him for hush-money ever since."

"And this will set things straight?"

"Yes. How to set about the public justification I do not yet see; but with your father, and all the rest, Archie's innocence will be as plain as it always has been to us."

"Where is he?"

"On an ostrich farm at Natal."

"Whew!--we must have him home. Jenny can't be spared. Poor Jenny, when she hears that, it will make all other things light to her."

"What is their address?"

"No, don't write. Mamma has had a fresh cold, and neither my father nor Jenny could leave her. Let them have a little peace till it gets worse. There will be plenty of time, if it is to be a twenty- eight days business like the others. Poor mamma!" and he rolled his head away; then, after some minutes of tossing and shivering, he asked for a prayer out of the little book in his pocket. "I should know it, but my memory is muddled, I think."

The book--a manual for sick-rooms--was one which Julius had given him new five weeks back. It showed wear already, having been used as often in that time as in six ordinary years of parish work. By the time the hard-pressed doctor came, it was plain that the fever was setting in severely, aggravated no doubt by the dreadful night at the 'Three Pigeons,' and the unrelaxed exertions ever since; for he was made to allow that he had come home in the chill morning air, cold, sickened, and exhausted; had not chosen to disturb anybody, and had found no refreshment but a raw apple--the last drop of wine having been bestowed on the sick; had lain down for a short sleep worse than waking, and had neither eaten nor slept since, but worked on by sheer strength of will and muscle. When Julius thought of the cherishing care that he had received himself, he shuddered, with a sort of self-reproach for his neglect; and the doctor, though good- humouredly telling Herbert not to think he knew anything about his own symptoms, did not conceal from Julius that enough harm had been done in these few days to give the fine Bowater constitution a hard struggle.

"Grown careless," he said. "Regular throwing away of his life."

Careless Herbert might have been, but Julius wondered whether this might not be losing of the life to find it.

Cranstoun or Cranky arrived, a charming old nurse, much gratified in the midst of her grief, and inclination to scold. She summarily sent off Mungo and Tartar by the conveyance that brought her, and would have sent Rollo away, but that Herbert protested against it, and no power short of an order from him would have taken the dog from his bedside.

And Mr. Bindon returned from Wil'sbro' in unspeakable surprise.

"The heroes of the occasion," he said, "were Bowater and Mrs.

Duncombe! Every sick person I visited, and there were fourteen in all stages, had something to say of one or other. Poor things, how their faces fell when they saw me instead of his bright, honest face! 'Cheering the very heart of one!' as a poor woman said; 'That's what I calls a true shepherd,' said an old man. You don't really mean he was rejected at the Ordination?'"

"Yes, and it will make him the still truer shepherd, if he is only spared!"

"The Sisters can't say enough of him. They thought him very ill yesterday, and implored him to take care of himself; but he declared he could not leave these two funerals to you. But, after all, he is less amazing to me than Mrs. Duncombe. She has actually been living at the hospital with the Sisters. I should not have known her."

"Great revolutions have happened in your absence. Much that has drawn out her sterling worth, poor woman."

"I shall never speak harshly again, I hope. It seems to be a judgment on me that I should have been idling on the mountains, while those two were thus devoting themselves to my Master in His poor."

"We are thankful enough to have you coming in fresh, instead of breaking down now. Have you a sermon? You will have to take Wil'sbro' to-morrow. Driver won't come. He wrote to the churchwardens that he had a cold, and that his agreement was with poor Fuller."

"And you undertook the Sunday?"

"Yes. They would naturally have no Celebration, and I thought Herbert's preaching in the midst of his work would be good for them.

You never heard such an apology and confession as the boy made to our people the first Sunday here, begging them to bear with him."

"Then I can't spare you anything here?"

"Yes, much care and anxiety. The visitation has done its worst in our house. We have got into the lull after the storm, and you need not be anxious about me. There is peace in what I have to do now.

It is gathering the salvage after the wreck."

Then Julius went into his own house, where he found Terry alone, and, as usual, ravenously hungry.

"Is Bowater really ill?" he asked.

"I am afraid there is no believing otherwise, Terry," said Julius.

"You will have to spare Rose to him sometimes, till some one comes to nurse him."