Frank was no better as to cold and deafness, though somewhat less uncomfortable the next day in the lodging, and Rosamond went up without him to the station to meet the rest of the party, and arrange for Mrs. Poynsett's conveyance. They had accomplished the journey much better than had been, hoped, but it was late and dark enough to make it expedient that Mrs. Poynsett should be carried to bed at once, after her most unwonted fatigue, and only have one glimpse and embrace of Frank, so as to stave off the knowledge of his troubles till after her night's rest. He seconded this desire, and indeed Miles and Anne only saw that he had a bad cold; but Rosamond no sooner had her husband to herself, than she raved over his wrongs to her heart's content, and implored Julius to redress them, though how, she did not well know, since she by turns declared that Frank was well quit of Lenore, and that he would never get over the loss.
Julius demurred a good deal to her wish of sending him on a mission to Eleonora. All Charnocks naturally swung back to distrust of the Vivians, and he did not like to plead with a girl who seemed only to be making an excuse to reject his brother; while, on the other hand, he knew that Raymond had not been satisfied with Frank's London habits, nor had he himself been at ease as to his religious practices, which certainly had been the minimum required to suit his mother's notions. He had been a communicant on Christmas Day, but he was so entirely out of reach that there was no knowing what difference his illness might have made in him; Eleonora might know more than his own family did, and have good and conscientious reasons for breaking with him; and, aware that his own authority had weight with her, Julius felt it almost too much responsibility to interfere till the next day, when his mother, with tears in her eyes, entreated him to go to Miss Vivian, to find out what was this dreadful misunderstanding, which perhaps might only be from his want of hearing, and implore her, in the name of an old woman, not to break her boy's heart and darken his life, as it had been with his brother.
Mrs. Poynsett was tremulous and agitated, and grief had evidently told on her high spirit, so that Julius could make no objection, but promised to do his best.
By the time it was possible to Julius to call, Sir Harry and Miss Vivian were out riding, and he had no further chance till at the gaslit Friday evening lecture, to which he had hurried after dinner. A lady became faint in the heated atmosphere, two rows of chairs before him, and as she turned to make her way out, he saw that it was Eleonora, and was appalled by seeing not only the whiteness of the present faintness, but that thinness and general alteration which had changed the beautiful face so much that he asked himself for a moment whether she could have escaped the fever. In that moment he had moved forward to her support; and she, seeming to have no one belonging to her, clung to the friendly arm, and was presently in the porch, where the cool night air revived her at once, and she begged him to return, saying nothing ailed her but gas.
"No, I shall see you home, Lena."
"Indeed, there is no need," said the trembling voice, in which he detected a sob very near at hand.
"I shall use my own judgment as to that," said Julius, kindly.
She made no more resistance, but rose from the seat in the porch, and accepted his arm. He soon felt that her steps were growing firmer, and he ventured to say, "I had been looking for you to-day."
"Yes, I saw your card."
"I had a message to you from my mother." Lenore trembled again, but did not dare to relax her hold on him. "I think you can guess what it is. She thinks poor Frank must have mistaken what you said."
"No-I wrote it," said Lena, very low.
"And you really meant that the resolution made last year is to stand between you and Frank? I am not blaming you, I do not know whether you may not be acting rightly and wisely, and whether you may not have more reason than I know of to shrink from intrusting yourself to Frank; but my mother cannot understand it, and when she sees him heartbroken, and too unwell to act for himself-"
"Oh! is he ill?"
"He has a very bad cold, and could not get up till the afternoon, and he is deafer than ever."
Lena moaned.
He proceeded: "So as he cannot act for himself, my mother begged me to come to an understanding."
"I told him to judge," said Lena faintly, but turning Julius so as to walk back along the parade instead of to her abode.
"Was not that making him his own executioner?" said Julius.
"A promise is binding," she added.
"Yet, is it quite fair?" said Julius, sure now which way her heart went, and thinking she was really longing to be absolved from a superstitious feeling; "is it fair to expect another person to be bound by a vow of which you have not told him?"
"I never thought he could," sighed she.
"And you know he was entrapped!" said Julius, roused to defend his brother.
"And by whom?" she said in accents of deep pain.
"I should have thought it just-both by your poor sister and by him- to undo the wrong then wrought," said Julius, "unless, indeed, you have some further cause for distrusting him?"
"No! no!" cried she. "Oh, Julius! I do it for his own good. Your mother knows not what she wishes, in trying to entangle him again with me."
"Lenore, will you tell me if anything in him besides that unhappy slip makes you distrust him?"
"I must tell the whole truth," gasped the poor girl, as they walked along in the sound of the sea, the dark path here and there brightened by the gas-lights, "or you will think it is his fault! Julius, I know more about my poor father than ever I did before. I was a child when I lived here before, and then Camilla took all the management. When we came to London, two months ago, I soon saw the kind of people he got round him for his comforters. I knew how he spent his evenings. It is second nature to him-he can't get put of it, I believe! I persuaded him to come down here, thinking it a haven of peace and safety. Alas! I little knew what old habits there were to resume, nor what was the real reason Camilla brought us away after paying our debts. I was a happy child then, when I only knew that papa was gone to his club. Now I know that it is a billiard-room-and that it is doing all the more harm because he is there-and I see him with people whom he does not like me to speak to. I don't know whether I could get him away, and it would be as bad anywhere else. I don't think he can help it. And he is often unwell; he can't do without me when he has the gout, and I ought not to leave him to himself. And then, if-if we did marry and he lived with us in London, think what it would be for Frank to have such a set brought about him. I don't see how he could keep them off. Or even an engagement bringing him down here-or anywhere, among papa's friends would be very bad for him. I saw it in London, even with Camilla to keep things in check." She was almost choked with suppressed agony.
"I see," said Julius, gravely and pitifully, "it would take a man of more age and weight than poor Frank to deal with the habits of a lifetime. The risk is great."
"And when I saw it," added Eleonora, "I felt I must never, never bring him into it. And how could I tell him? Your mother does not know, or she could not wish it!"
"It is plain that in the present state of things you ought not to marry, and so far you are judging nobly," said Julius; "but next comes the question-how far it is well to make that day at the races the pretext?"
"Don't call it a pretext," said Lenore, quickly. "I meant what I said a year ago, with all my soul. Perhaps it was hasty, when poor Camilla drove me into saying I did not mean only an habitual gambler, but one who had ever betted. And now, well as I know how cruelly she used that presumptuous vow of mine, and how she repented of it at last, still I feel that to fly in its face might be so wrong, that I should have no right to expect not to drag Frank down."