“Whom can I find?” said Herbert.  “There’s my father away, and Raymond ill, and Lipscombe waved me off—­wouldn’t so much as speak to me for fear I should be infectious.”

“You must get a town magistrate.”

“Briggs is frantic since he lost his son, and Truelove thinks he has the fever, though Worth says it is all nonsense.  There’s nobody but Whitlock.  Dear old Jenny!  Well, there always was something different from other people in her, and I never guessed what it was.  I’d go to the end of the world to make her happy and get that patient look out of her eyes.”

Herbert had nearly to fulfil this offer, for Mr. Whitlock was gone to London for the day, and magistrates were indeed scarce; but at last, after walking two miles out of the town, his vehemence and determination actually dragged in the unfortunate, timid justice of the peace who had avoided him in the road, but who could not refuse when told in strong earnest that the justification of an innocent man depended on his doing his duty.

Poor Mr. Lipscombe!  The neglected ‘Three Pigeons’ was just now the worst place in all Water Lane.  The little that had hastily been done since the morning seemed to have had no effect on the foetid atmosphere, even to Herbert’s well accustomed nostrils; and what must it have been to a stranger, in spite of the open window and all the disinfectants?  And, alas! the man had sunk into a sleep.  Julius, who still stood by him, had heard all he had to say to relieve his mind, all quite rationally, and had been trying to show him the need of making reparation by repeating all to a magistrate, when the drowsiness had fallen on him; and though the sound of feet roused him, it was to wander into the habitual defiance of authority, merging into terror.

Herbert soothed him better than any one else could do, and he fell asleep again; but Mr. Lipscombe declared it was of no use to remain—­ nothing but madness; and they could not gainsay him.  He left the two clergymen together, feeling himself to have done a very valiant and useless thing in the interests of justice, or at the importunity of a foolishly zealous young curate.

“Look here,” said Herbert, “Whitlock may be trusted.  Leave a note for him explaining.  I’ll stay here; I’m the best to do so, any way.  If he revives and is sensible, I’ll send off at once for Whitlock, or if there is no time, I’ll write it down and let him see me sign it.”

“And some one else, if possible,” said Julius.  “The difficulty is that I never had authority given me to use what he said to me in private.  Rather the contrary, for old instinctive habits of caution awoke the instant I told him it was his duty to make it known, and that Archie was alive.  I don’t like leaving you here, Herbert, but Raymond was very weak this morning; besides, there’s poor Joe’s funeral.”

“Oh, never mind.  He’ll have his sleep out, and be all right when he awakes.  Think of righting Jenny’s young man!  How jolly!”