'Rector,' said Herbert Bowater, 'are you specially at home?'
'Why?' asked Julius, pausing.
'There's that man Gadley.'
'Gadley! Is he down?'
'It seems that he has been ill this fortnight, but in the low, smouldering form; and he and that hostler of his kept it a secret, for fear of loss of gain, and hatred of doctors, parsons, Sisters, and authorities generally, until yesterday, when the hostler made off with all the money and the silver spoons. This morning early, a policeman, seeing the door open, went in, and found the poor wretch in a most frightful state, but quite sensible. I was passing as he came out to look for help, and I have been there mostly ever since. He is dying-M'Vie says there's not a doubt of that, and he has got something on his mind. He says he has been living on Moy's hush- money all this time, for not bringing to light some embezzlement of your mother's money, and letting the blame light on that poor cousin of yours, Douglas.'
Herbert was amazed at the lighting up of his Rector's worn, anxious face.
'Douglas! Thank Heaven! Herbert, we must get a magistrate at once to take the deposition!'
'What! Do you want to prosecute Moy?'
'No, but to clear Archie.'
'I thought he was drowned?'
'No; that was all a mistake. Miles saw him at Natal. Herbert, this will be life and joy to your sister. What!-you did not know about Jenny and Archie?'
'Not I-Jenny!-poor old Joan! So that's what has stood in her way, and made her the jolliest of old sisters, is it? Poor old Joanie! What! was she engaged to him?'
'Yes, much against your father's liking, though he had consented. I remember he forbade it to be spoken of,- and you were at school.'
'And Joan was away nursing old Aunt Joan for two years. So Archie went off with this charge on him, and was thought to be lost! Whew! How did she stand it? I say, does she know he is alive?'
'No, he forbade Miles to speak. No one knows but Miles and I, and our wives. Anne put us on the scent. Now, Herbert, I'll go to the poor man at once, and you had better find a magistrate.'
'Whom can I find?' said Herbert. 'There's my father away, and Raymond ill, and Lipscombe waved me off- wouldn't so much as speak to me for fear I should be infectious.'
'You must get a town magistrate.'
'Briggs is frantic since he lost his son, and Truelove thinks he has the fever, though Worth says it is all nonsense. There's nobody but Whitlock. Dear old Jenny! Well, there always was something different from other people in her, and I never guessed what it was. I'd go to the end of the world to make her happy and get that patient look out of her eyes.'
Herbert had nearly to fulfil this offer, for Mr. Whitlock was gone to London for the day, and magistrates were indeed scarce; but at last, after walking two miles out of the town, his vehemence and determination actually dragged in the unfortunate, timid justice of the peace who had avoided him in the road, but who could not refuse when told in strong earnest that the justification of an innocent man depended on his doing his duty.
Poor Mr. Lipscombe! The neglected 'Three Pigeons' was just now the worst place in all Water Lane. The little that had hastily been done since the morning seemed to have had no effect on the foetid atmosphere, even to Herbert's well accustomed nostrils; and what must it have been to a stranger, in spite of the open window and all the disinfectants? And, alas! the man had sunk into a sleep. Julius, who still stood by him, had heard all he had to say to relieve his mind, all quite rationally, and had been trying to show him the need of making reparation by repeating all to a magistrate, when the drowsiness had fallen on him; and though the sound of feet roused him, it was to wander into the habitual defiance of authority, merging into terror.
Herbert soothed him better than any one else could do, and he fell asleep again; but Mr. Lipscombe declared it was of no use to remain- nothing but madness; and they could not gainsay him. He left the two clergymen together, feeling himself to have done a very valiant and useless thing in the interests of justice, or at the importunity of a foolishly zealous young curate.
'Look here,' said Herbert, 'Whitlock may be trusted. Leave a note for him explaining. I'll stay here; I'm the best to do so, any way. If he revives and is sensible, I'll send off at once for Whitlock, or if there is no time, I'll write it down and let him see me sign it.'
'And some one else, if possible,' said Julius. 'The difficulty is that I never had authority given me to use what he said to me in private. Rather the contrary, for old instinctive habits of caution awoke the instant I told him it was his duty to make it known, and that Archie was alive. I don't like leaving you here, Herbert, but Raymond was very weak this morning; besides, there's poor Joe's funeral.'
'Oh, never mind. He'll have his sleep out, and be all right when he awakes. Think of righting Jenny's young man! How jolly!'
Julius went across to the town-hall hospital, and told the Sisters, whose darling his curate was, of the charge he had undertaken, and they promised to look after him. After which Julius made the best of his way home, where Rosamond had, as usual, a bright face for him. Her warm heart and tender tact had shown her that obtrusive attempts to take care of him would only be harassing, so she only took care to secure him food and rest in his own house whenever it was possible, and that however low her own hopes might be, she would not add to his burden; and now Terry was so much better that she could well receive him cheerily, and talk of what Terry had that day eaten, so joyously, as almost to conceal that no one was better at the Hall.
'I will come with you,' she said; 'I might do something for poor Fanny,' as the bell began to toll for little Joshua's funeral. Fanny Reynolds, hearing some rumour of her boy's illness, had brought Drake to her home three days before his death. The poor little fellow's utterances, both conscious and unconscious, had strangely impressed the man, and what had they not awakened in the mother? And when the words, so solemn and mysterious, fell on those unaccustomed ears in the churchyard, and Fanny, in her wild overpowering grief, threw herself about in an agony of sorrow and remorse, and sobbed with low screams, it was 'the lady' whom she viewed as an angel of mercy, who held her and hushed her; and when all was over, and she was sinking down, faint and hysterical, it was 'the lady' who-a little to the scandal of the more respectable- helped Drake to carry her to the Rectory, the man obeying like one dazed.
'I must leave the sheep that was lost to you, Rose,' said Julius. 'You can do more for them than I as yet, and they have sent for me to the Hall.'
'You will stay there to-night if they want you; I don't want any one,' said Rosamond at the door.
He was wanted indeed at his home. Frank was in a wilder and more raving state than ever, and Raymond so faint and sinking, and with such a look about him, that Julius felt, more than he had ever done before, that though the fever had almost passed away, there was no spirit or strength to rally. He was very passive, and seemed to have no power to wonder, though he was evidently pleased when Julius told him both of Archie Douglas's life and the hopes of clearing his name. 'Tell Jenny she was right,' he said, and did not seem inclined to pursue the subject.
They wheeled Mrs. Poynsett away at her usual hour, when he was dozing; and as Frank was still tossing and moaning incoherently, and often required to be held, Julius persuaded Anne to let him take her place with him, while she became Raymond's watcher. He dozed about half an hour, and when she next gave him some food, he said, in a very low feeble tone:
'You have heard from Miles?'
'Yes; he says nothing shall stop him the moment they are paid off.'
'That's right. No fear of infection-that's clear,' said Raymond.
'I think not-under God!' and Anne's two hands unseen clasped over her throbbing, yearning heart.
'Dear old fellow!' said Raymond. 'It is such pleasure to leave mother to him. If I don't see him, Anne, tell him how glad I am. I've no charge. I know he will do it all right. And mother will have you,' and he held out his hand to her. Presently he said: 'Anne. One thing-'
'Yes,' she said anxiously.
'You always act on principle, I know; but don't hang back from Miles's friends and pleasures. I know the old fellow, Anne. His nature is sociable, and he wants sympathy in it.'
'I know what you mean, Raymond,' said Anne; 'I do mean to try to do right-'
'I know, I know,' said he, getting a little excited, and speaking eagerly; 'but don't let right blind you, Anne, if
