Cecil was sitting up in bed, very thin, but with eager eyes and flushed cheeks, as she held out her hands. "Rosamond! Oh! But aren't you afraid?"

"No, indeed, I'm always in it now," said Rosamond, kissing her, and laying her down; "it has been everywhere."

"Ah! then they sent him away--Raymond?" then clutching Rosamond's hand, and looking at her with searching eyes, "Tell me, has his mother any right! Would you bear it if she kept _you_ apart?"

"Ah! Cecil, it was not her doing."

"You don't mean it was his own? Papa is not afraid. You are not afraid. If it had been he, I wouldn't have feared anything. I would have nursed him day and night till--till I made him care for me."

"Hush, dear Cecil," said Rosamond, with great difficulty. "I know you would, and so would he have done for you, only the cruel fever kept you apart."

"The fever! He had it?"

"Yes, he _had_ it."

"But he is better. I am better. Let me be taken to him. His mother is not there now. I heard them say she was in Frank's room.

Call papa. He will carry me."

"Oh! poor, poor Cecil. His mother only went to Frank when he did not need her any more." And Rosamond hid her face on the bed, afraid to look.

Cecil lay back so white, that Grindstone approached with some drops, but this made her spring up, crying, "No, no, don't come near me!

You never told me! You deceived me!"

"Don't, don't, ma'am--my dear Miss Charnock--now. It was all for the best. You would not have been here now."

"And then I should be with him. Rosamond, send her away, I can't bear her. She sent him away from me that night. I heard her."

"My dear Cecil, this will not do. You are making your father dreadfully unhappy. Dear Raymond stayed with you till he really could not sit up any longer, and then he kissed you."

"Kissed me! Oh, where? Did you see? No, don't ask Grindstone.

She made me think he had left me, and fancy--oh, Rosamond! such-- such things! And all the time--"

The moaning became an anguish of distress, unable to weep, like terrible pain, as the poor young thing writhed in Rosamond's arms.

It was well that this one sister understood what had been in Cecil's heart, and did believe in her love for Raymond. Rosamond, too, had caressing power beyond any other of the family, and thus she could better deal with the sufferer, striving, above all, to bring tears by what she whispered to her as she held her to her bosom. They were a terrible storm at last, but Cecil clung to Rosamond through all, absolutely screaming when Grindstone came near; poor Grindstone who had been so devoted, though mistaken. Weakness, however, after the first violent agitation was soothed, favoured a kind of stunned torpor, and Cecil lay still, except when her maid tried to do anything for her, and then the passion returned. When old Susan Alston came with a message, she was at once recognized and monopolized, and became the only servant whom she would suffer about her.

The inconvenience was great, but relapse was such an imminent danger, that it was needful to give up everything to her; and Mr.

Charnock, regarding his daughter's sufferings as the only ones worth consideration, seemed to pursue Rosamond the instant she had sat down by the still feeble, weary, convalescent Terry, imploring her to return to Cecil with the irresistible force of tearful eyes and piteous descriptions; and as Terry had a week's start in recovery, and was not a widow under twenty-two, he had to submit, and lie as contentedly as he could in his solitude.

Susan could be better spared to Cecil's morbid fancy of being waited on by her who had attended her husband, for Miles and Anne were sufficient for Mrs. Poynsett and Frank. The long-sundered husband and wife scarcely saw each other, except over Frank's bed, and Mr.

Charnock was on the Captain's hands whenever he came beyond it. On the Wednesday, however, Julius, who had only once spoken to his brother alone, came up to the breakfast-table where he and Mr.

Charnock were sitting, and hurt the feelings of the latter by first asking for Frank. "He had slept all night, and only half woke when Miles and Anne changed watch and gave him beef-tea. Cecil, very moaning and restless--more fever about her, poor dear. When would Lady Rosamond come up?--she was asking for her." When she had seen to a few things at home, given her brother his breakfast, and seen to poor Herbert; he had had a dreadful night, and that Cranstoun _would_ shut the window unless some one defended him. Mr. Charnock began to resume his daughter's symptoms, when Julius, at the first pause, said:

"Have you finished, Miles? Could you speak to me in the library a minute? I beg your pardon, Mr. Charnock, but my time is short."

"I hope--I quite understand. Do not let me be in your way." And the brothers repaired to the library, where Julius's first words were, "Miles, you must make up your mind. They are getting up a requisition to you to stand for Wil'sbro'."

"To me?"

"You are the most obvious person, and the feeling for dear Raymond is so strong as to prevent any contest. Whitlock told Bindon yesterday that you should have no trouble."

"I can't. It is absurd. I know nothing about it. My poor mother bred up Raymond for nothing else. Don't you remember how she made him read history, volumes upon volumes, while I was learning nothing but the ropes? I declare, Julius, there he goes."

"Who?"

"Why, that old ass, down to hunt up poor Rosamond; I don't believe he thinks there's any one in the world but his daughter. I declare I'll hail him and stop him."

"No, no, Miles, Rosamond can take care of herself. She won't come till she has seen to her patients down there; and, after all, Cecil's is the saddest case, poor thing. To return. If you don't take to politics in the end, I think you should let them put you in now, if only as a stop-gap, or we shall get some one whom it may not be easy to get rid of."

"There's something in that, but I can't accept without knowing my position, and I would not utter a word to disturb my mother till it occurs to her of herself."

"Now that Frank is better?"

"No. It will all come on her soon enough."

"Would you stand if she made it right for you?"

"I can't tell. There would be no punishment so great to my poor Anne as to be dragged into society, and I don't know how she would bear it, even if she had no scruples. We never thought of anything but settling in Glen Fraser, only I wanted her to know you all. If that poor Cecil only had a child we could be free to go back. Poor Anne!"

"Do you think she is still as homesick as at first?"

"Well, not quite, perhaps; but I never can get to talk to her, and I know it is a terrible sacrifice to her to live here at all, and I won't have her forced into a style of thing against her conscience.

If they come to me, I shall tell them to take Mr. Bowater."

"Poor Mr. Bowater! He will have little heart."

"Who else is there? That fellow Moy would like it, I suppose."

"That fellow Moy may have to change his note," said Julius. "I think we have the means of clearing Archie, when we can see how to use them."

Miles gave a sort of leap as he stood by the fire. "Tell me.

Archie! I had no heart to write to him, poor fellow."

"Write to him by all means, but say nothing here." And Julius briefly repeated what Gadley had said.

"I don't see that the scoundrel Moy deserves any consideration."

"I don't know whether he does; but he has a good wife, ailing and sickly, and a daughter. He has lived in good report these many years, and I think it is due to him and to old Proudfoot not to spread the report before giving him warning. In fact, I am not sure whether we could proceed against him as things stand."

"It is just what Raymond would have known," said Miles, with a sigh; "but you are right, Julius, one ought to give him fair play. Ah!

what's that, Jenkins?--Note from Lord Belfort? Wait for an answer.

Can't they give one any peace?"

While Miles was reluctantly answering his note, Julius, resolving to act before he was forbidden, mounted to Frank's room, requested to speak with his mother, and propelled her into the outer room, leaving Anne on guard.

"Now then, my dear," she said, "I have known a talk must soon come.

You have all been very good to me to leave it so long."

"I am come now without poor Miles's knowledge or consent," said Julius, "because it is necessary for him to know what to do."