"Yes. Wouldn't he be flattered to hear of the stunning excitement when they heard of Captain Bowater, and how the old lady, their mother, talked by the yard about him? You'll get a welcome indeed when you come, old fellow. When shall it be?"

"No, thank you, Phil," said Herbert, gravely. "I shall come back here as soon as I am well enough. But there is one thing I wish you would do for me."

"Well, what? I'll speak about having any horse you please taken up for you to ride; I came over on Brown Ben, but he would shake you too much."

"No, no, it's about a young fellow. If you could take him back to York to enlist--"

"My dear Herbert, I ain't a recruiting-sergeant."

"No, but it might be the saving of him," said Herbert, raising himself and speaking with more animation. "It is Harry Hornblower."

"Why, that's the chap that bagged your athletic prizes! Whew!

Rather strong, ain't it, Joan!"

"He did no such thing," said Herbert, rather petulantly; "never dreamt of it. He only was rather a fool in talking of them-- vaunting of me, I believe, as not such a bad fellow for a parson; so his friends got out of him where to find them. But they knew better than to take him with them. Tell him, Jenny; he won't believe me."

"It is quite true, Phil," said Jenny, "the poor fellow did get into bad company at the races, but that was all. He did not come home that night, but he was stupefied with drink and the beginning of the fever, and it was proved--perfectly proved--that he was fast asleep at a house at Backsworth when the robbery was committed, and he was as much shocked about it as any one--more, I am sure, than Herbert, who was so relieved on finding him clear of it, that he troubled himself very little about the things. And now he has had the fever-- not very badly--and he is quite well now, but he can't get anything to do. Truelove turned him off before the races for hanging about at the Three Pigeons, and nobody will employ him. I do think it is true what they say--his mother, and Julius, and Herbert, and all-- that he has had a lesson, and wants to turn over a new leaf, but the people here won't let him. Julius and Herbert want him to enlist, and I believe he would, but his mother--as they all do--thinks that the last degradation; but she might listen if Captain Bowater came and told her about his own regiment--cavalry too--and the style of men in it--and it is the only chance for him."

Philip made a wry face.

"You see I took him up and let him down," said Herbert, sadly and earnestly.

"I really do believe," said Jenny, clenching the matter, "that Herbert would get well much faster if Harry Hornblower were off his mind."

Phil growled, and his younger brother and sister knew that they would do their cause no good by another word. There was an odd shyness about them all. The elder brother had not yet said anything about Jenny's prospects, and only asked after the party at the Hall.

"All nearly well, except Frank's deafness," said Jenny. "In a day or two he is going up to London to consult an aurist, and see whether he can keep his clerkship. Miles is going with him, and Rosamond takes Terry up to see his brother in London, and then, I believe, she is going on to get rooms at Rockpier, while Miles comes home to fetch his mother there."

"Mrs. Poynsett!" with infinite wonder.

"Oh yes, all this has really brought out much more power of activity in her. You know it was said that there was more damage to the nervous system than anything else, and the shock has done her good.

Besides, Miles is so much less timid about her than dear Raymond, who always handled her like a cracked teapot, and never having known much of any other woman, did not understand what was good for her."

"Miles has more pith in him than ever poor old Raymond had," said Phil. "Poor old Poynsett, I used to think he wanted to be spoony on you, Joan, if he had only known his own mind. If he had, I suppose he would have been alive now!"

"What a pleasing situation for Jenny!" Herbert could not help muttering.

"Much better than running after ostriches in the wilderness," quoth Philip. "You ride them double, don't you?"

"Two little negro boys at a time," replied Jenny, "according to the nursery-book. Will you come and try, Phil?"

"You don't mean to go out?"

"I don't know," said Jenny; "it depends on how mamma is, and how Edith gets on."

Philip gave a long whistle of dismay. Herbert looked at him wistfully, longing to hear him utter some word of congratulation or sympathy with his sister; but none was forthcoming. Philip had disliked the engagement originally--never had cared for Archie Douglas, and was not melted now that Jenny was more valuable than ever. She knew him too well to expect it of him, and did not want to leave him to vex Herbert by any expression of his opinion on the matter, and on this account, as well as on that of the fatigue she saw on her patient's features, she refused his kind offer of keeping guard while she went in the afternoon to church, adding that Herbert must rest, as Mrs. Duncombe was coming afterwards to take leave of him.

Philip shrugged his shoulders in horror, and declared that he should not return again till _that_ was over; but he should look in again before he went home to settle about Herbert's coming to York.

"York!" said Herbert, with a gasp, as Jenny brought his jelly, and arranged his pillows for a rest, while the dragoon's boots resounded on the stairs. "Please tell him to say no more about it. I want them all to understand that I'm not going in for that sort of thing any more."

"My dear, I think you had better not say things hotly and rashly; you may feel so very differently by and by."

"I know that," said Herbert; "but after all it is only what my ordination vows mean, though I did not see it then. And this year must be a penance year; I had made up my mind to that before I fell ill."

"Only you must get well," said Jenny.

"That takes care of itself when one is sound to begin with," said Herbert. "And now that I have been brought back again, and had my eyes opened, and have got another trial given me, it would be double shame to throw it away."

"I don't think you will do that."

"I only pray that all that seems burnt out of me by what I have seen, and heard, and felt, may not come back with my strength."

"I could hardly pray that for you, Herbert," said Jenny. "Spirits are wanted to bear a clergyman through his work, and though you are quite right not to _go in_ for those things, I should be sorry if you never enjoyed what came in your way."

"If I never was tempted."

"It need not be temptation. It would not be if your mind were full of your work--it would only be refreshment. I don't want my boy to turn stern, and dry, and ungenial. That would not be like your Rector."

"My Rector did not make such a bad start, and can trust himself better," said Herbert. "Come, Jenny, don't look at me in that way.

You can't wish me to go to York, and meet those rattling girls again?"

"No, certainly not, though Sister Margaret told Rosamond they had never had such a sobering lesson in their lives as their share in the mischief to you."

"It was not their fault," said Herbert. "It was deeper down than that. And they were good girls after all, if one only had had sense."

"Oh!--"

"Nonsense, Jenny," with a little smile, as he read her face, "I'm not bitten--no--but they, and poor Lady Tyrrell, and all are proof enough that it is easy to turn my head, and that I am one who ought to keep out of that style of thing for the future. So do silence Phil, for you know when he gets a thing into his head how he goes on, and I do not think I can bear it now."

"I am sure you can't," said Jenny, emphatically, "and I'll do my best. Only, Herbie, dear, do one thing for me, don't bind yourself by any regular renunciations of moderate things now your mind is excited, and you are weak. I am sure Julius or Dr. Easterby would say so."

"I'll think," said Herbert. "But if I am forgiven for this year, nothing seems to me too much to give up to the Great Shepherd to show my sorrow. 'Feed My sheep' was the way He bade St. Peter prove his love."

Jenny longed to say it was feeding the sheep rather than self- privation, but she was not sure of her ground, and Herbert's low, quiet, soft voice went to her heart. There were two great tears on his cheeks, he shut his eyes as if to keep back any more, and turned his face inwards on the sofa, his lips still murmuring over 'Feed My sheep.' She looked at him, feeling as if, while her heart had wakened to new glad hopes of earth, her brother, in her fulfilled prayer, had soared beyond her. They were both quite still till Mrs.

Duncombe came to the door.

She was at the Rectory, her house being dismantled, and she, having stayed till the last case of fever was convalescent, and the Sisters recalled, was to go the next day to her mother-in-law's. She was almost as much altered as Herbert himself. Her jaunty air had given way to something equally energetic, but she looked wiry and worn, and her gold pheasant's crest had become little more than a sandy wisp, as she came quietly in and took the hand that Herbert held out to her, saying how glad she was to see him on the mend.

He asked after some of the people whom they had attended together, and listened to the details, asking specially after one or two families, where one or both parents had been taken away. "Poor Cecil Poynsett is undertaking them," was the answer in each case.

Some had been already sent to orphanages; others were boarded out till places could be found for them; and the Sisters had taken charge of two.

Then one widow was to 'do for' the Vicar, who had taken solitary possession of the Vicarage, but would soon be joined there by one or more curates. He had been inducted into the ruinous chancel of the poor old church, had paid the architect of the Rat-house fifty pounds (a sum just equalling the proceeds of the bazaar) to be rid of his plans; had brought down a first-rate architect; and in the meantime was working the little iron church vigorously.

"Everything seems to be beginning there just as I go into exile!"

said Mrs. Duncombe. "It seems odd that I should have to go from what I have only just learnt to prize. But you have taught mo a good deal--"

"Every one must have learnt a good deal," said Herbert wearily. "If one only has!"