"Who? What?"
"It is your hair! At Mrs. Douglas's grave! He'll be gone! Make haste-make haste!"
He started up, letting her drag him along, but under protest. "My dear, men do come to have hair like mine."
"I tell you it was at our graves-our own-I touched him. I had this wreath for Raymond, and there he was, with his hat off, at the railing close to Mrs. Douglas's. I thought his back was yours, and called your name, and he started, and I saw-he had a white beard, but he was not old. He just bowed, and then went off very fast by the other gate, towards Wil'sbro'. I did call, 'Wait, wait,' but he didn't seem to hear. Oh, go, go, Julius! Make haste!"
Infected by the wild hope, Julius hurried on the road where his wife had turned his face, almost deriding himself for obeying her, when he would probably only overtake some old family retainer; but as, under the arch of trees that overhung the road, he saw a figure in the moonlight, a thrill of recognition came over him as he marked the vigorous tread of the prime of life, and the white hair visible in the moonlight, together with something utterly indescribable, but which made him call out, "Archie! Archie Douglas! wait for me!"
The figure turned. "Julius!" came in response; the two cousins' hands clasped, and there was a sob on either side as they kissed one another as brothers.
"Archie! How could you!-Come back!" was all that Julius could say, leaning breathlessly against him and holding him tight.
"No! Do not know that I have been here. I was sent to London on business. I could not help running home in the dark. No one must know it. I am dead to them."
"No, Archie, you are not. Gadley has confessed and cleared you. Come home!"
"Cleared me!" The two arms were stretched up to the sky, and there was the sound of a mighty sob, as though the whole man, body, soul, and spirit, were relieved from an unspeakable burthen. "Say it again, Julius!"
"Gadley, on his death-bed, has confessed that Moy and Proudfoot took that money, incited by Tom Vivian."
Archie Douglas could not speak, but he turned his face towards Compton again, strode swiftly into the churchyard, and fell on his knees by his mother's grave. When at last he rose, he pointed to the new and as yet unmarked mound, and said, "Your mother's?"
"Oh no! Raymond's! We have had a terrible fever here-almost a pestilence-and we are scarcely breathing after it."
"Ah! some one in the train spoke of sickness at Wil'sbro', but I would ask no questions, for I saw faces I knew, and I would lead to no recognition. I could not stay away from getting one sight of the old place. Miles made it all burn within me; but here's my return- ticket for the mail-train."
"Never mind return-tickets. Come home with me."
"I shall startle your mother."
"I meant my home-the Rectory. It was my wife who saw you in the churchyard, and sent me after you. She is watching for you."
Archie, still bewildered, as if spell-bound by his ticket, muttered, "I thought I should have time to walk over and look at Strawyers."
"Joanna is here."
"Julius! It is too much. You are sure I am awake? This is not the old dream!" cried the exile, grasping his cousin's arm quite gainfully.
"I am a waking man, and I trust you are," said Julius. "Come into the light. No, that is not Jenny on the step. It is my Rose. Yes, here he is!"
And as they came into the stream of light from the porch, Irish Rosamond, forgetting that Archie was not a brother, caught him by both hands, and kissed him in overpowering welcome, exclaiming, "Oh, I am so glad! Come in-come in!"
There he stood, blinking in the lamplight, a tall, powerful, broad-chested figure, but hardly a hero of romance to suit Terry's fancy, after a rapid summary of the history from Rosamond. His hair and beard were as white as Julius's, and the whole face was tanned to uniform red, but no one could mistake the dazed yet intense gladness of the look. He sank into a chair, clasped his hands over his face for a moment, then surveyed them all one by one, and said, "You told me she was here."
"She is with her brother Herbert, at Mrs. Hornblower's lodgings. No, you must wait, Archie; he has barely in the last few hours, by God's great mercy, taken a turn for the better in this fever, and I don't see how she can leave him."
"But she must hear it," cried Rosamond. "I'm going to make her or Cranky get some rest; but you ought to be the one to tell her, Julius, you that have stood by her through all."
"And aren't you burning to do so, Rosey, woman? and I think you had better, rather than that I should startle Herbert by returning; but stay, mind your own rules-eat and drink before you go, and give the same to Archie. I shall send up a note to Miles. How is Cecil?"
"Very silent and broken, poor thing. She is to see your mother to-morrow. How well it was that she kept me so late over her wreath of camellias!"
Archie submitted to wait for food and fuller information,-indeed the lady of the house manifested more impatience than he did, as she flitted about making preparations, and he sat with hands locked together over his knee, gazing fixedly at Julius, scarcely speaking, though eagerly listening; and when the meal was brought in, he could not eat, only eagerly drank off a cup of scalding tea, and watched Rosamond, as if jealous of any delay over her cutlet. She did not abuse his patience.
"Now then?" she said, rising. "You shall hear something of her before long."
"Let me come to her door," entreated Archie.
And as the light shone from the window of the sick-room, Rosamond said, "Stand under that tree in the moonlight, and I will make her look out."
All was intensely quiet; Cranky fast asleep in the arm-chair in the outer-room, and Jenny sitting by the bed, watching the smooth quiet breath.
"You are to lie down on the sofa and sleep," said Rosamond, kissing her, and she shook her head, "You must. People want strength for joy as well as grief. Trust him to me, for there is some one for you to see to-morrow."
"Not papa!" said Jenny, startled. "No, nor Phil! Tell me, Rosamond. There is only one you could look at me like that for!"
"Look out at the window."
Trembling all over, Jenny went and put her face to the lattice. The figure under the tree came nearer. Archie must have been able clearly to see her face in the moonlight. He stretched up his arms to her, then folded them together on his breast, and let himself be led away by Julius, while Jenny slid down on her knees, with her face buried, and the suppressed choking sobs made Herbert look up at Rosamond, and whisper, "It is?"
"It is," repeated Rosamond, who had thought him asleep, or entirely absorbed in the trouble of living.
"Go to her," he added.
Rosamond put her arm round her, and supported her into the next room; for, after the month of hopeless watching, the long sleeplessness and the struggle of this silent day to force her spirit to the forgiveness she had promised, and then the sudden reaction, had overpowered her, and the suppression and silence were beyond endurance. She did not even know that Herbert was awake when Rosamond brought her out into Mrs. Hornblower's room, and said, "Have it out now, my dear, no one will hear. Scream comfortably. It will do you good."
But Jenny could not even scream. She was in the excited agony when the mind is far too much for the body, and joy, unrealized, is like grief. If her brother had that day passed away, and if nothing had been heard of her lover, she would have been all calmness and resignation; but the revulsion had overcome her, and at the moment she was more conscious of strangulation than of anything else. Rosamond tended her for full half an hour, and then she seemed almost asleep, though she resisted the attempt to undress her, with the words, "I must go to Herbert."
"I will take care of Herbert," and Jenny was too much spent not to acquiesce, and fell asleep almost before she was laid down on the bed their landlady had given up to the watchers.