“No, no, I can’t!” she cried, with a sudden gush of emotion sweeping over her features, subdued instantly, but showing what it was to her.  “You do it.  Only don’t let them bring him here.”

And Anne flew to her fastness in Frank’s attic, while Julius repaired to Raymond’s room, and found him as usual lying tranquil, with his mother’s chair so near that she could hand him the cool fruit or drink, or ring to summon other help.  Their time together seemed to both a rest, and Julius always liked to look at their peaceful faces, after the numerous painful scenes he had to encounter.  Raymond, too, was clinging to him, to his ministrations and his talk, as to nothing else save his mother.  Raymond had always been upright and conscientious, but his religion had been chiefly duty and obligation, and it was only now that comfort or peace seemed to be growing out of it for him.  As he looked up at his brother, he too saw the involuntary brightness that the tidings had produced, and said, “Is any one else better, Julius?  I know Terry is; I am so glad for Rose.”

“I asked Anne the same question,” said Julius.  “Mother, you will be more glad than tantalized.  The Salamanca is come in.”

Raymond made an inarticulate sound of infinite relief.  His mother exclaimed, “He must not come here!  But Frankie could not spare Anne to him.  What will she do?”

“She will stay bravely by Frank,” said Julius.  “We must all wait till the ship is paid off.”

“Of course,” said Raymond.  “If she can rejoice that he is out of danger, we will; I am content to know him near.  It makes all much easier.  And, mother, he will find all ready to own what a priceless treasure he sent before him in his wife.”

There was the old note of pain in the comparison.  Julius’s heart was wrung as he thought of Sirenwood, with the sense that the victim was dying, the author of the evil recovering.  He could only stifle the thought by turning away, and going to the table in his mother’s adjacent room, where letters had accumulated unopened.  ’On Her Majesty’s Service’ bore the post-mark which justified him in opening it, and enclosing the letter it contained to Miss Vivian.

He did so almost mechanically.  He had gone through these weeks only by never daring to have a self.  The only man of his family who could be effective; the only priest in the two infected parishes; he had steadfastly braced himself for the work.  He ventured only to act and pray, never to talk, save for the consolation of others.  To Wil’sbro’ he daily gave two morning hours, for he never failed to be wanted either for the last rites, or for some case beyond Herbert’s experience, as well as to see the Vicar, who was sinking fast, in a devout and resigned frame, which impressed while it perplexed his brother clergyman, in view of the glaring deficiencies so plain to others, but which never seemed to trouble his conscience.