"Do you mean that you are anxious about that fever in Water Lane?"
"There was an oppressive sickly air about everything, strongest at the ball. I can't forget it," said Raymond, taking off his hat, so that the morning air might play about his temples. "We talked about meddling women, but the truth was that they were shaming us by doing what they could."
"I hope others will see it so. Is not Whitlock to be mayor next time?"
"Yes. He may do something. Well, they will hardly unseat me! I should not like to see Moy in my place, and it would be a sore thing for my mother; but," he continued, in the same strange, dreamy manner, "everything has turned out so wretchedly that I hardly know or care how it goes."
"My dear old fellow!"
Raymond had stopped to lean over a gate, where he could look up to the old red house in the green park, set in brightly-tinted trees, all aglow in the morning sunshine. Tears had sprung on his cheeks, and a suppressed sob heaved his chest. Julius ventured to say, "Perhaps there may yet be a change of mind."
"No!" was the answer. "In the present situation there is nothing for it but to sacrifice my last shred of peace to the one who has the chief right-in a certain way."
They walked on, and he hardly spoke again till, as they reached the Rectory, Julius persuaded him to come in and have a cup of tea; and though he said he must go back and see his friend off, he could not withstand the sight of Rosamond at the window, fresh and smiling, with her child in her arms.
"Not a bit the worse for her dissipation," she merrily said. "Oh, the naughty little thing!-to have begun with the turf, and then the 'Three Pigeons'! Aren't you ashamed of her, papa? Sit down, Raymond; how horribly tired you do look."
"Ha! What's this?" exclaimed Julius, who had been opening the post-bag. "Here's a note from the Bishop, desiring me to come to the palace to-day, if possible."
"Oh!" cried Raymond. "Where is there vacant-isn't there a canonry or a chaplaincy?"
"Or an archbishopric or two?" said Julius. "The pony can do it, I think, as there will be a long rest. If he seems fagged, I can put up at Backsworth and take a fly."
"You'll let James drive you," said Rosamond.
"I had rather not," said Julius. "It may be better to be alone."
"He is afraid of betraying his elevation to James," laughed Rosamond.
"Mrs. Daniel Reynolds to see you, sir."
This was with the information that that there trapezing chap, Drake, had fetched off poor Fanny in his van. He had been in trouble himself, having been in custody for some misdemeanour when she was thrown down; but as soon as he was released, he had come in search of her, and though at first he seemed willing to leave her to be nursed at home, he had no sooner heard of the visitors of that morning than he had sworn he would have no parson meddling with his poor gal! she was good enough for him, and he would not have a pack of nonsense put in her head to set her against him.
"He's good to her, sir," said Mrs. Reynolds, "I think he be; but he is a very ignorant man. He tell'd us once as he was born in one of they vans, and hadn't never been to school nor nothin', nor heard tell of God, save in the way of bad words: he've done nothin' but go from one races and fairs to another, just like the gipsies, though he bain't a gipsy neither; but he's right down attacted to poor Fanny, and good to her."
"Another product of the system," said Raymond.
"Like the gleeman, whom we see through a picturesque medium," said Julius; "but who could not have been pleasant to the mediaeval clergyman. I have hopes of poor Fanny yet. She will drift home one of these days, and we shall get hold of her."
"What a fellow you are for hoping!" returned Raymond, a little impatiently.
"Why not?" said Julius.
"Why! I should say-" replied Raymond, setting out to walk home, where he presided over his friend's breakfast and departure, and received a little banter over his solicitude for the precious infant. Cecil was still in bed, and Frank was looking ghastly, and moved and spoke like one in a dream, Raymond was relieved to hear him pleading with Susan for to his mother's room much earlier than usual.
Susan took pity and let him in; when at once he flung himself into a chair, with his face hidden on the bed, and exclaimed, "Mother, it is all over with me!"
"My dear boy, what can have happened?"
"Mother, you remember those two red pebbles. Could you believe that she has sold hers?"
"Are you sure she has? I heard that they had a collection of such things from the lapidary at Rockpier."
"No, mother, that is no explanation. When I found that I should be able to come down, I sent a card to Lady Tyrrell, saying I would meet them on the race-ground-a post-card, so that Lena might see it. When I came there was no Lena, only some excuse about resting for the ball-lying down with a bad headache, and so forth-making it plain that I need not go on to Sirenwood. By and by there was some mild betting with the ladies, and Lady Tyrrell said, 'There's a chance for you, Bee; don't I see the very fellow to Conny's charm?' Whereupon that girl Conny pulled out the very stone I gave Lena three years ago at Rockpier. I asked; yes, I asked-Lena had sold it; Lena, at the bazaar; Lena, who-"
"Stay, Frank, is this trusting Lena as she bade you trust her? How do you know that there were no other such pebbles?"
"You have not seen her as I have done. There has been a gradual alienation-holding aloof from us, and throwing herself into the arms of those Strangeways. It is no fault of her sister's. She has lamented it to me."
"Or pointed it out. Did she know the history of these pebbles?"
"No one did. Lena was above all reserved with her."
"Camilla Tyrrell knows a good deal more than she is told. Where's your pebble? You did not stake that?"
"Those who had one were welcome to the other."
"O, my poor foolish Frank! May it not be gone to tell the same tale of you that you think was told of her? Is this all?"
"Would that it were!"
"Well, go on, my dear. Was she at the ball?"
"Surrounded by all that set. I was long in getting near her, and then she said her card was full; and when I made some desperate entreaty, she said, in an undertone that stabbed me by its very calmness, 'After what has passed to-day, the less we meet the better.' And she moved away, so as to cut me off from another word."
"After what had passed! Was it the parting with the stone?"
"Not only. I got a few words with Lady Tyrrell. She told me that early impressions had given Lena a kind of fanatical horror of betting, and that she had long ago made a sort of vow against a betting man. Lady Tyrrell said she had laughed at it, but had no notion it was seriously meant; and I-I never even heard of it!"
"Nor are you a betting man, my Frank."
"Ay! mother, you have not heard all."
"You are not in a scrape, my boy?"
"Yes, I am. You see I lost my head after the pebble transaction. I couldn't stand small talk, or bear to go near Raymond, so I got among some other fellows with Sir Harry-"
"And excitement and distress led you on?"
"I don't know what came over me. I could not stand still for fear I should feel. I must be mad on something. Then, that mare of Duncombe's, poor fellow, seemed a personal affair to us all; and Sir Harry, and a few other knowing old hands, went working one up, till betting higher and higher seemed the only way of supporting Duncombe, besides relieving one's feelings. I know it was being no end of a fool; but you haven't felt it, mother!"
"And Sir Harry took your bets?"
"One must fare and fare alike," said Frank.
"How much have you lost?"
"I've lost Lena, that's all I know," said the poor boy; but he produced his book, and the sum appalled him. "Mother," he said in a broken voice, "there's no fear of its happening again. I can never feel like this again. I know it is the first time one of your sons has served you so, and I can't even talk of sorrow, it seems all swallowed up in the other matter. But if you will help me to meet it, I will pay you back ten or twenty pounds every quarter."