Funds and contributions of bedding, clothing, food and wine were coming in, but hands were the difficulty.  The adaptations of the town-hall and the bringing in of beds were done by one strong carpenter and Mrs. Duncombe’s man Alexander, whom she had brought with her, and who proved an excellent orderly; and the few who would consent, or did not resist occupying the beds there, were carried in by Herbert Bowater and a strapping young doctor who had come down for this fever pasture.  There Mrs. Duncombe and Miss Slater received them.  No other volunteer had come to light willing to plunge into this perilous and disgusting abyss of misery; and among the afflicted families the power of nursing was indeed small.

However, the healthy children were carried away without much resistance, and established in the great barn under a trustworthy widow; and before night, two effective-looking Sisters were in charge at the hospital.

Still, however, no telegram, no letter, came from Eleonora Vivian.  Mr. M’Vie had found a nurse for Lady Tyrrell, but old Sir Harry rode in to meet every delivery of the post, and was half distracted at finding nothing from her; and Frank’s murmurs of her name were most piteous to those who feared that, if he were ever clearly conscious again, it would only be to know how heavy had been the meed of his folly.

CHAPTER XXVIII The Retreat

What dost thou here, frail wanderer from thy task?—­Christian Year

Eleonora Vivian was trying to fix her attention on writing out the meditation she had just heard from Dr. Easterby.

It had been a strange time.  All externally was a great hush.  There was perfect rest from the tumult of society, and from the harassing state of tacit resistance habitual to her.  This was the holy quietude for which she had longed, yet where was the power to feel and profit by it?  Did not the peace without only make her hear the storm within all the more?

A storm had truly been raging within ever since Conny Strangeways had triumphantly exhibited the prize she had won from Frank Charnock at the races; and Camilla had taken care that full and undeniable evidence should prove that this was not all that the young man had lost upon the Backsworth race-ground.

Lenore might guess, with her peculiarly painful intuition, who had been the tempter, but that did not lessen her severity towards the victim.  In her resolution against a betting man, had she not trusted Frank too implicitly even to warn him of her vow?  Nay, had she not felt him drifting from her all through the season, unjustly angered, unworthily distrustful, easily led astray?  All the misgivings that had fretted her at intervals and then cleared away seemed to gather into one conviction—­Frank had failed her!