The nursing-staff still consisted of the Sisters, Herbert Bowater, Mrs. Duncombe and her man-servant.  Under their care, the virulence of the disease was somewhat abating, and the doctors ventured to say that after the next few days there would be much fewer fatal cases; but Water Lane was now a strangely silent place,—­windows open, blinds flapping in the wind, no children playing about, and the ‘Three Pigeons’ remained the only public-house not shut up.  It was like having the red cross on the door.

CHAPTER XXIX A Strange Night

Cold, cold with death, came up the tide
   In no manner of haste,
Up to her knees, and up to her side,
   And up to her wicked waist;
For the hand of the dead, and the heart of the dead,
   Are strong hasps they to hold.—­G.  MACDONALD

“Rector,” said Herbert Bowater, “are you specially at home?”

“Why?” asked Julius, pausing.

“There’s that man Gadley.”

“Gadley!  Is he down?”

“It seems that he has been ill this fortnight, but in the low, smouldering form; and he and that hostler of his kept it a secret, for fear of loss of gain, and hatred of doctors, parsons, Sisters, and authorities generally, until yesterday, when the hostler made off with all the money and the silver spoons.  This morning early, a policeman, seeing the door open, went in, and found the poor wretch in a most frightful state, but quite sensible.  I was passing as he came out to look for help, and I have been there mostly ever since.  He is dying—­M’Vie says there’s not a doubt of that, and he has got something on his mind.  He says he has been living on Moy’s hush-money all this time, for not bringing to light some embezzlement of your mother’s money, and letting the blame light on that poor cousin of yours, Douglas.”

Herbert was amazed at the lighting up of his Rector’s worn, anxious face.

“Douglas!  Thank Heaven!  Herbert, we must get a magistrate at once to take the deposition!”

“What!  Do you want to prosecute Moy?”

“No, but to clear Archie.”

“I thought he was drowned?”

“No; that was all a mistake.  Miles saw him at Natal.  Herbert, this will be life and joy to your sister.  What!—­you did not know about Jenny and Archie?”

“Not I—­Jenny!—­poor old Joan!  So that’s what has stood in her way, and made her the jolliest of old sisters, is it?  Poor old Joanie!  What! was she engaged to him?”

“Yes, much against your father’s liking, though he had consented.  I remember he forbade it to be spoken of,—­and you were at school.”

“And Joan was away nursing old Aunt Joan for two years.  So Archie went off with this charge on him, and was thought to be lost!  Whew!  How did she stand it?  I say, does she know he is alive?”

“No, he forbade Miles to speak.  No one knows but Miles and I, and our wives.  Anne put us on the scent.  Now, Herbert, I’ll go to the poor man at once, and you had better find a magistrate.”