"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 you censure and keep from all he likes-if you will be a recluse and not a woman- he-don't be offended, Anne; but if you leave him to himself, then will every effort be made to turn him from you. You don't believe me."
"My dear Raymond, don't speak so eagerly," as his cheeks flushed.
"I must! I can't see his happiness and yours wrecked like mine. Go with him, Anne. Don't leave him to be poisoned. Mesmerism has its power over whoever has been under the spell. And he has-he has! She will try to turn him against you and mother."
"Hush, Raymond! Indeed I will be on my guard. There's no one there. What are you looking at?"
"Camilla!" he said, with eyes evidently seeing something. "Camilla! Is it not enough to have destroyed one peace?"
"Raymond, indeed there is no one here."
But he had half raised himself. "Yes, Camilla, you have had your revenge. Let it be enough. No-no; I forgive you; but I forbid you to touch her."
He grasped Anne's arm with one hand, and stretched the other out as though to warn some one away. The same moment there was another outburst of the bleeding. Anne rang for help with one hand, and held him as best she could. It lasted long; and when it was over he was manifestly dying. "It is coming," he said; looking up to Julius. "Pray! Only first-my love to Cecil. I hope she is still young enough not to have had all her life spoilt. Is her father coming?"
"To-morrow," said Anne.
"That's well. Poor child! she is better free."
How piteously sad those words of one wedded but a year! How unlike the look that met his mother's woeful yet tender eyes, as she held his hand. She would aid him through that last passage as through all before, only a word of strong and tender love, as he again looked up to Julius and Anne, as if to put her in their keeping, and once more murmured something of "Love to sweet Rose! Now, Julius, pray!"
An ever dutiful man, there was no wandering in look or tone. He breathed 'Amen' once or twice, but never moved again, only his eyes still turned on his mother, and so in its time came the end.
Old Susan saw at first that the long fluttering gasp had no successor, and her touch certified Julius. He rose and went towards his mother. She held out her hands and said. "Take me to my Frank."
"We had better," whispered Anne.
They wheeled her to the foot of the stairs. Julius took her in his arms, Anne held her feet, and thus they carried her up the stairs, and along the passage, hearing Frank's husky rapid babble all the way, and finding him struggling with the fierce strength of delirium against Jenkins, who looked as if he thought them equally senseless, when he saw his helpless mistress carried in.
"Frank, my boy, do lie still," she said, and he took no notice; but when she laid her hand on his, he turned, looked at her with his dull eyes, and muttered, "Mother!"
It was the first recognition for many a day! and, at the smoothing motion of her hand over him, while she still entreated, "Lie still, my dear," the mutterings died away; the childish instinct of obedience stilled the struggles; and there was something more like repose than had been seen all these weary months.
"Mother," said Julius, "you can do for us what no one else can. You will save him."
She looked up to him, and hope took away the blank misery he had dreaded to see. "My poor Frankie," she said dreamily, "he has wanted me, I will not leave him now."
All was soon still; Frank's face had something like rest on it, as he lay with his mother's hand on his brow, and she intent only on him.
"You can leave them to me, I think," said Anne. "I will send if there be need; but if not, you had better not come up till you have been to Wil'sbro'-if you must go."
"I must, I fear; I promised to come to Fuller if he be still here. I will speak to Jenkins first."
Julius was living like a soldier in a campaign, with numbers dropping beside him, and no time to mourn, scarcely to realize the loss, and he went on, almost as if he had been a stranger; while the grief of poor old Jenkins was uncontrollable, both for his lady's sake and for the young master, who had been his pride and glory. His sobs brought out Mrs. Grindstone into the gallery, to insist, with some asperity, that there should be no noise to awaken her mistress, who was in a sweet sleep.
"We will take care," said Julius, sadly. "I suppose she had better hear nothing till Mr. Charnock comes."
"She must be left to me, sir, or I cannot be answerable for the consequences," was the stiff reply, wherewith Mrs. Grindstone retreated into her castle.
Julius left the hushed and veiled house, in the frosty chill of the late autumn just before dawn, shivering between grief and cold, and he walked quickly down the avenue, feeling it strange that the windows in the face of his own house were glittering back the reflection of the setting moon.
Something long and black came from the opposite direction. "Rector," it said, in a low hoarse voice, "I've got leave from him to use what he said to you. Sister Margaret and I signed it. Will that do?"
"I can't tell now, Herbert, I can't think. My brother is just gone," said Julius in his inward voice.