"I'll do it. What shall I say, dear Herbert?"
"Only tell her to come to me," he gasped. "Cranstoun-our old nurse. Then I'll be no trouble."
While Mr. Bindon helped Herbert into his room, Rosamond sped home to send for Mrs. Cranstoun, arrange for the care of the new patient in the intervening hours, and fetch some of those alleviations of which experience had taught the use. Mr. Bindon came to meet her on her return, carefully shutting the door, and saying, "Lady Rosamond, can he be delirious already? He is talking of being plucked for his Ordination."
"Too true," said Rosamond. "I thought it a great shame to be so hard on a man with that in him; but I believe you expected it?"
"No; I may have said he would fail, but I never expected it."
"Fail, indeed! Fancy a man being turned back who has worked night and day-night and day-doing all the very hardest services-never resting! Very likely killing himself!" cried Rosamond hotly. "May I come back to him? Terry can spare me, and if you will go to Wil'sbro' I'll stay till my husband comes, or the doctor. The Sisters will tell you what to do."
Herbert was, however, so much more comfortable for being in bed, that he was able to give Mr. Bindon directions as to the immediate cares at Wil'sbro'; but he was distressed at occupying Lady Rose, his great object being to be no trouble to anybody, though he had seen so much of the disease as to have been fully aware that it had been setting in for the last two days, yet his resolution to spare his Rector had kept him afoot till he had seen other help arrive. He declared that he wanted nobody but Rollo, who could fetch and carry, and call any one, if only the doors were open, and really the creature's wistful eyes and gentle movements justified the commendation.
"Only," said Herbert anxiously, "I suppose this is not catching for dogs. You'll make a home for him Lady Rose?" he added. "I should like you to have him, and he'll be happier with you than with any one else."
"Herbert, I can't have you talk of that."
"Very well," he said, quietly. "Only you will keep my dear old fellow-I've had him from a puppy-and he is but three years old now."
Rosamond gave all promises, from her full heart, as she fondled the soft, wise black head.
Herbert was unhappy too about Mrs. Hornblower's trouble. Harry had been one of the slighter cases, and was still in his room, a good deal subdued by the illness, and by the attention the lodger had shown him; for Herbert had spent many hours, when he had been supposed to be resting, in relieving Mrs. Hornblower, and she was now in a flood of gratitude, only longing to do everything for him herself. Had he not, as she declared, saved her son, body and soul?
The most welcome sight was Julius, who came down in dismay as soon as he could leave the Hall. "I am so glad," said the patient; "I want to talk things over while my head is clearer than it ever may be again."
"Don't begin by desponding. These fevers are much less severe now than six weeks ago."
"Yes; but they always go the hardest with the great big strong young fellows. I've buried twelve young men out of the whole forty-five."
"Poor lads, I doubt if their life had been such a preparation as yours."
"Don't talk of my life. A stewardship I never set myself to contemplate, and so utterly failed in. I've got nothing to carry to my God but broken vows and a wasted year."
"Nothing can be brought but repentance."
"Yes, but look at others who have tried, felt their duties, and cared for souls; while I thought only of my vows as a restraint, and tried how much pleasure I could get in spite of them. A pretty story of all the ministry I shall ever have."
"These last weeks!"
"Common humanity-nonsense! I should always have done as much; besides, I was crippled everywhere, not merely by want of power as a priest, but by having made myself such a shallow, thoughtless ass. But that was not what I wanted to say. It was about Gadley and his confession."
"O, Herbert! I am afraid I was very unkind that night. I did not think of anything but our own trouble, nor see how much it had cost you."
"Of course not-nonsense. You had enough to think of yourself, and I was only ashamed of having bored you."
"And when I think of the state of that room, I am afraid it was then you took in the poison."
"Don't say afraid. If it was for Jenny, I shall have done some good in the world. But the thing is-is it good? Will it clear Douglas? I suppose what he said to you was under seal of confession?"
"Scarcely so, technically; but when a man unburthens himself on his death-bed, and then, so far from consenting, shows terror and dismay at the notion of his words being taken down as evidence, it seems to me hardly right or honourable to make use of them-though it would right a great wrong. But what did you get from him?"
"I gave Lady Rose the paper. He raved most horribly for an hour or two, as if all the foul talk of his pot-house had got into his brain," said Herbert, with a shudder. "Rector, Rector, pray for me, that I mayn't come out with that at any rate. It has haunted me ever since. Well, at last he slept, and woke up sinking but conscious, knew me, and began to ask if this was death, and was frightened, clutching at me, and asking to be held, and what he could do. I told him at least he could undo a wrong, if he would only authorize us to use what he said to clear Douglas; and then, as Sister Margaret had come across, I wrote as well as I could: "George Gadley authorizes what he said to the Rev. Julius Charnock to be used as evidence;" and I suppose he saw us sign it, if he could see at all, for his sight was nearly gone."
Julius drew a long breath.
"And now, what was it?" said Herbert.
"Well, the trio-Moy, young Proudfoot, and Tom Vivian-detained a letter of my mother's, with a cheque in it, and threw the blame of it on Archie Douglas. They thought no one was in the office but themselves; but Gadley was a clerk there, and was in the outer room, where he heard all. He came to Moy afterwards, and has been preying on him for hush-money ever since."
"And this will set things straight?"
"Yes. How to set about the public justification I do not yet see; but with your father, and all the rest, Archie's innocence will be as plain as it always has been to us."
"Where is he?"
"On an ostrich farm at Natal."
"Whew!-we must have him home. Jenny can't be spared. Poor Jenny, when she hears that, it will make all other things light to her."
"What is their address?"
"No, don't write. Mamma has had a fresh cold, and neither my father nor Jenny could leave her. Let them have a little peace till it gets worse. There will be plenty of time, if it is to be a twenty- eight days business like the others. Poor mamma!" and he rolled his head away; then, after some minutes of tossing and shivering, he asked for a prayer out of the little book in his pocket. "I should know it, but my memory is muddled, I think."
The book-a manual for sick-rooms-was one which Julius had given him new five weeks back. It showed wear already, having been used as often in that time as in six ordinary years of parish work. By the time the hard-pressed doctor came, it was plain that the fever was setting in severely, aggravated no doubt by the dreadful night at the 'Three Pigeons,' and the unrelaxed exertions ever since; for he was made to allow that he had come home in the chill morning air, cold, sickened, and exhausted; had not chosen to disturb anybody, and had found no refreshment but a raw apple-the last drop of wine having been bestowed on the sick; had lain down for a short sleep worse than waking, and had neither eaten nor slept since, but worked on by sheer strength of will and muscle. When Julius thought of the cherishing care that he had received himself, he shuddered, with a sort of self-reproach for his neglect; and the doctor, though good- humouredly telling Herbert not to think he knew anything about his own symptoms, did not conceal from Julius that enough harm had been done in these few days to give the fine Bowater constitution a hard struggle.