"Yes; but not till very late. He says he never was so busy."
"Rosamond, what is it? What did he say of Terry?"
"He said"-she drew a long breath-"he says it is the Water Lane fever."
"Terry, my dear-"
She held him down with a hand on his shoulder-
"Be quiet. Finish your dinner. Dr. Worth said the great point was to keep strong, and not be overdone, nor to go into infected air tired and hungry. I would not have let you come in if there had been any help for it; and now I'll not have you go near him till you've made a good meal."
"You must do the same then. There, eat that slice, or I won't;" and as she allowed him to place it on her plate, "What does he call it- not typhus?"
"He can't tell yet; he does not know whether it is infectious or only epidemic; and when he heard how the dear boy had been for days past at the Exhibition at the town-hall, and drinking lots of iced water on Saturday, he seemed to think it quite accounted for. He says there is no reason that in this good air he should not do very well; but, oh, Julius, I wish I had kept him from that horrid place. They left him in my charge!"
"There is no reason to distress yourself about that, my Rose. He was innocently occupied, and there was no cause to expect harm. There's all good hope for him, with God's blessing. Who is with him now?"
"Cook is there now. Both the maids were so kind and hearty, declaring they would do anything, and were not afraid; and I can manage very well with their help. You know papa had a low fever at Montreal, and mamma and I nursed him through it, so I know pretty well what to do."
"But how about the baby?"
"Emma came back before the doctor came, crying piteously, poor child, as if she had had a sufficient lesson; so I said she might stay her month on her good behaviour, and now we could not send her out of the house. I have brought the nursery down to the spare room, and in the large attic, with plenty of disinfecting fluid, we can, as the doctor said, isolate the fever. He is quiet and sleepy, and I do not think it will be hard to manage, if you will only be good and conformable."
"I don't promise, if that means that you are to do everything and I nothing. When did Worth see him?"
"Not till five o'clock: and he would not have come at all, if Anne had not sent in some one from the Hall when she saw how anxious I was. He would not have come otherwise; he is so horribly busy, with lots of cases at Wil'sboro'. Now, if you have done, you may come and see my boy."
Julius did see a flushed sleeping face that did not waken at his entrance; and as his wife settled herself for her watch, he felt as if he could not leave her after such a day as she had had, but an indefinable apprehension made him ask whether she would spare him to run up to the Hall to see his mother and ask after Raymond, whose looks had haunted him all day. She saw he would not rest otherwise, and did not show how unwilling was her consent, for though she knew little, her mind misgave her.
He made his way into the Hall by the back door, and found his mother still in the drawing-room, and Raymond dozing in the large arm-chair by the fire. Mrs. Poynsett gave a warning look as Julius bent over her, but Raymond only opened his eyes with a dreamy gaze, without speaking. "Why, mother, where are the rest?"
"Poor Frank-I hope it is only the shock and fatigue; but Dr. Worth wished him to be kept as quiet as possible. He can't bear to see any one in the room, so that good Anne said she would sit in Charlie's room close by."
"Then he is really ill?" said Julius.
"He nearly fainted after walking over to Sirenwood in vain. I don't understand it. There's something very wrong there, which seems perfectly to have crushed him."
"I'll go up and see him," said Julius. "You both of you look as if you ought to be in bed. How is Cecil, Raymond?"
"Quite knocked up," he sleepily answered. "Here's Susan, mother."
Susan must have been waiting till she heard voices to carry off her mistress. Raymond pushed her chair into her room, bent over her with extra tenderness, bade her good night; and when Julius had done the same they stood by the drawing-room fire together.
"I've been trying to write that letter, Julius," said Raymond, "but I never was so sleepy in my life, and I can't get on with it."
"What letter?"
"That letter. About the races."
"Oh! That seems long ago!"
"So it does," said Raymond, in the same dreamy manner, as if trying to shake something off. "Some years, isn't it? I wanted it done, somehow. I would sit down to it now, only I have fallen asleep a dozen times over it already."
"Not very good for composition," said Julius, alarmed by something indefinable in his brother's look, and by his manner of insisting on what was by no means urgent. "Come, put it out of your head, and go to bed."
"How did you find the boy Terry?" asked Raymond, again as if in his sleep.
"I scarcely saw him. He was asleep."
"And Worth calls it-?"
"The same fever as in Water Lane."
"I thought so. We are in for it," said Raymond, now quite awake. "He did not choose to say so to my mother, but I gathered it from his orders."
"But Frank only came down yesterday."
"Frank was knocked down and predisposed by the treatment he met with, poor boy. They say he drank quarts of iced things at the dinner and ball, and ate nothing. This may be only the effect of the shock, but his head is burning, and there is a disposition to wander. However, he has had his coup de grace, and that may account for it. It is Cecil."
"Cecil!"
"Cecil, poor child. She has been constantly in that pestiferous place. All Worth would say was that she must be kept quiet and cool, but he has sent the same draughts for all three. I saw, for Terry's came here. I fancy Worth spoke out plainly to that maid of Cecil's, Grindstone; but she only looks bitter at me, says she can attend to her mistress, and has kept me out of the room all day. But I will go in to-night before I go to bed," added Raymond, energetically. "You are ready to laugh at me, Julius. No one has meddled between you and Rosamond."
"Thank God, no!" cried Julius.
"Friend abroad, or you may leave out the r," said Raymond, "maid at home. What chance have I ever had?"
"I'll tell you what I should do, Raymond," said Julius, "turn out the maid, keep the field, nurse her myself."
"Yes," said Raymond, "that's all very well if-if you haven't got the fever yourself. There, you need say nothing about it, nobody would be of any use to me to-night, and it may be only that I am dead beat."
But there was something about his eyes and his heavy breath which confirmed his words, and Julius could only say, "My dear Raymond!"
"It serves us right, does not it?" said his brother, smiling. "I only wish it had not fixed on the one person who tried to do good."
"If I could only stay with you; but I must tell Rosamond first."
"No, indeed. I want no one to-night, no one; after that you'll look after my mother, that's the great thing." He spoke steadily, but his hand trembled so that he could not light his candle, and Julius was obliged to do it, saying wistfully, "I'll come up the first thing in the morning and see how you are."
"Do, and if there is need, you will tell my mother. A night's rest may set me right, but I have not felt well these three or four days- I shall be in my own old room."
He leant heavily on the balusters, but would not take his brother's arm. He passed into his dressing-room, and thus to the open door of the room where he heard his wife's voice; and as Mrs. Grindstone came forward to warn him off, he said, "She is awake."
"Yes, sir; but she must not be excited."
"Raymond!"
"How are you now?" he asked, coming up to the bed.
"Oh! it is very hot and heavy," said Cecil wearily, putting her hand into his; "I'm aching all over."
"Poor child!" he said softly.