I see you here.'
'She has slept more quietly. Mr. M'Vie thinks her a little better.'
'So it is with Terry de Lancey,' said Julius; 'he is certainly less feverish to-day;' but there was no corresponding tone of gladness in the voice, though he added, 'Cecil is going on well too.'
'And-' Poor Lenore's heart died within her; she could only press his arm convulsively, and he had mercy on her.
'Frank's illness has been different in character from the others,' he said; 'the fever has run much higher, and has affected the brain more, and the throat is in a very distressing state; but Dr. Worth still does not think there are specially dangerous symptoms, and is less anxious about him than Raymond.'
'Ah! is it true?'
'He does not seem as ill as Frank; but there have been bleedings at the nose, which have brought him very low, and which have hitherto been the worst symptoms,' and here the steady sadness of his voice quivered a little.
Lenore uttered a cry of dismay, and murmured, 'Your mother?'
'She is absorbed in him. Happily, she can be with him constantly. They seem to rest in each other's presence, and not to look forward.'
'And Cecil?'
'It has taken the lethargic turn with Cecil. She is almost always asleep, and is now, I believe, much better; but in truth we have none of us been allowed to come near her. Her maid, Grindstone, has taken the sole charge, and shuts us all out, for fear, I believe, of our telling her how ill Raymond is.'
'Oh, I know Grindstone.'
'Who looks on us all as enemies. However, Raymond has desired us to write to her father, and he will judge when he comes.'
They were almost at the place of parting. Eleonora kept her hand on his arm, longing for another word, nay, feeling that without it her heart would burst. 'Who is with Frank?'
'Anne. She hardly ever leaves him. She is our main-stay at the Hall.'
'Is he ever sensible?' she faintly asked.
'He has not been really rational for nearly ten days now.'
'If-if-oh! you know what I mean. Oh! gain his pardon for me!' and she covered her face with her hand.
'Poor Frank!-it is of your pardon that he talks. Tell me, Eleonora, did you ever receive a letter from my mother?'
'Never. Where was it sent?' she said, starting.
'To Revelrig. It was written the day after the ball.'
'I never went to Revelrig. Oh! if I could have spoken to you first I should have been saved from so much that was wrong. No one knew where I was.'
'No, not till Sister Margaret told Herbert Bowater that her sisters had been at a ball at the town-hall the week before. Then he saw she was Miss Strangeways, and asked if she knew where you were.'
'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, '
'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
