power of speech was gone, and there was thus less reason to regret the absence of the nearest and dearest.
Mrs. Brownlow said she must await their return with Allen, who was terribly shocked and overcome by this his first and sudden contact with death. John, too, had better remain for his sister's sake, but the others had better go home.
'Yes, my child, you must go,' she said, laying her hand on the cold ones of Barbara, who stood white, silent, and stunned by the shock.
'Oh, don't make me,' said a dull, dreamy, piteous voice.
'Indeed you must, my dear. It would only add to the pain and confusion to have you here now. They may like to have you to-morrow. Remember, he is not here. Take her, Jock. Take care of her.'
The coming of Sir James Evelyn at that moment gave Babie the impulse of movement, and Dr. Medlicott hurrying out to offer the use of his carriage, made her cling to Jock, and then to sign rather than speak her desire to walk with her brothers.
Swiftly and silently they went along the streets on that June night in the throng of carriages carrying people to places of amusement, the wheels surging in their ears with the tramp and scuffle of feet on the pavement like echoes from some far-off world. Now and then there was a muffled sound from Armine, but no word was spoken till they were within their own door.
Then Jock saw for one moment Armine's face perfectly writhen with suppressed grief; but the boy gave no time for a word, hurrying up the stairs as rapidly as possible to his own room.
'Will not you go to bed? Mother will come to you there,' said Jock to his sister, who was still quite white and tearless.
'Please not,' was her entreaty. 'Suppose they sent for me!'
He did not think they would, but he let her sit in the dark by the open window, listening; and he put his arm round her, and said, gently-
'You are much honoured, Babie. It is a great thing to have held so pure and true a heart, not for time, but eternity.'
'Don't, Jock. Not yet! I can't bear it,' she moaned; but she laid her head on his shoulder, and so rested till he said-
'If you can spare me, Babie, I think I must see to Armie. He seemed to me terribly overcome.'
'Armine has lost his very best and dearest friend,' she said, pressing her hands together. 'Oh yes, go to him! Armie can feel, and I can't! I can only choke!'
Jock apprehended a hysterical struggle, but there only came one long sob like strangulation, and he thought the pent up feeling might better find its course if she were left alone, and he was really anxious about Armine, remembering what the loss was to him, that it was his first real grief, and that he had had a considerable share of the first shock of the alarm.
His soft knock was unheard, and as he gently pushed open the door, he saw Armine kneeling in the dark with his head bowed over his prayer- desk, and would have retreated, but he had been heard, and Armine rose and came forward.
The light on the stairs showed a pale, tear-stained face, but calm and composed; and it was in a steady, though hushed, voice that he said-
'Can I be of any use?'
'I am sorry to have disturbed you. I only came to see after you. This is a sore stroke on you, Armie.'
'I can stand it better, now. I have given him up to God as he bade me,' said Armine. 'It had been a weary, disappointed, struggling life, and he never wished it to last.' The tears were choking him, but they were gentle ones. 'He thought it might be like this-and soon-only he hoped to get home first. And I can give thanks for him, what he has been to me, and what he will be to me all my life.'
'That is right, Armie. John did great things for us all when he caught the carriage.'
'And how is Babie?'
'Poor child, she seems as if she could neither speak nor cry. It is half hysterical, and I was going to get something for her to take. Perhaps seeing you may be good for her.'
'Poor little thing, she is almost his widow, though she scarcely knows it,' said Armine, coming down with his brother.
They found Babie still in the same intent, transfixed, watching state; but she let Armine draw her close to him, and listened as he told her, in a low tender voice of the talks he had had with Fordham, who had expressed to his young friend, as to no one else, his own feelings as to his state, and said much that he had spared others, who could not listen with that unrealising calmness that comes when sorrow, never yet experienced, is almost like a mere vision. And as Babie listened, the large soft tears began to fall, drop by drop, and the elder brother's anxiety was lessened. He made them eat and drink for one another's sake, and watched over them with a care that was almost parental, till at nearly half-past twelve o'clock the other three came home.
They said Mrs. Evelyn had come fully prepared by the telegram, and under an inexplicable certitude which made it needless to speak the word to her. She was thankful that Marmaduke had been spared the protracted weeks of struggle in which his elder brothers' lives had closed, and she said-
'We knew each other too well to need last words.'
Indeed she was in the exalted state that often makes the earlier hours and days of bereavement the least distressing, and Sydney was absorbed in the care of her. Neither had been nearly so much overcome as Cecil and Esther, who had been hunted up with difficulty. He seemed to be as much shocked and horrified as if his brother had been in the strongest possible health; and poor Esther felt it wicked and unfeeling to have been dancing, and cried so bitterly that the united efforts of her aunt and brother could not persuade her that what was done in simple duty and obedience need give no pang, and that Mrs. Evelyn never thought of the incongruity.
It was only her husband's prostration with grief and desolation that drew her off, to do her best with her pretty childish caresses and soothings; and when the two had been sent to their own home, Mrs. Evelyn was so calm that her friend felt she might be left with her daughter for the night, and returned, bringing her tender love to 'Our Babie,' as she called the girl.
She clung very much to Barbara in the ensuing days. The presence of every one seemed to oppress her except that of her own children, and the two youngest Brownlows, for had not Armine been the depository of all Fordham's last messages? What she really seemed to return to as a refreshment after each needful consultation with Sir James on the dreary tasks of the mourners, was to finish the packing of those 'Traveller's Joys' which lay strewn about Fordham's sitting-room, open at the fly leaves, that the ink might dry.
Esther was very gentle and sweet, taking it quite naturally that Babie should be a greater comfort to her mother-in-law than herself; and content to be a very valuable assistant herself, for the stimulus made her far more capable than she had been thought to be. She managed almost all the feminine details, while Sir James attended to the rest. She answered all the notes, and wrote all the letters that did not necessarily fall on her husband and his mother; and her unobtrusive helpfulness made her a daughter indeed.
All the young men went to the funeral; but Mrs. Brownlow felt that it was a time for friends to hold back till they were needed, when relations had retreated; so she only sent Babie, whom Mrs. Evelyn and Sydney could not spare, and she followed after three weeks, when Allen was released from his unwelcome work.
She found Mrs. Evelyn feeling it much more difficult to keep up than it had been at first, now that she sorely missed the occupation of her life. For full twenty years she had had an invalid on her mind, and Cecil's marriage had made further changes in her life. It was not the fault of the young couple. They did not love their new honours at all. Apart from their affection, Cecil hated trouble and responsibility, and could not bear to shake himself out of his groove, and Esther was frightened at the charge of a large household. Their little home was still a small paradise to them, and they implored their mother to allow things to go on as they were, and Cecil continue in the Guards, while she reigned as before at Fordham; letting the Cavendish Square house, which Essie viewed with a certain nervous horror.
Mrs. Evelyn had so far consented that the change need not be made for at least a year. Her dower house was let, and she would remain as mistress of Fordham till the term was over, by which time the young Lady Fordham might have risen to her position, and her Lord be less unwilling to face his new cares.
'And they will be always wanting me to take the chair,' said he, in a deplorable voice that made the others laugh in spite of themselves; and he was so grateful to his mother for staying in his house, and letting him remain in his regiment, that he seemed to have quite forgotten that the power was in his own hands.
