Julius went across to the town-hall hospital, and told the Sisters, whose darling his curate was, of the charge he had undertaken, and they promised to look after him.  After which Julius made the best of his way home, where Rosamond had, as usual, a bright face for him.  Her warm heart and tender tact had shown her that obtrusive attempts to take care of him would only be harassing, so she only took care to secure him food and rest in his own house whenever it was possible, and that however low her own hopes might be, she would not add to his burden; and now Terry was so much better that she could well receive him cheerily, and talk of what Terry had that day eaten, so joyously, as almost to conceal that no one was better at the Hall.

“I will come with you,” she said; “I might do something for poor Fanny,” as the bell began to toll for little Joshua’s funeral.  Fanny Reynolds, hearing some rumour of her boy’s illness, had brought Drake to her home three days before his death.  The poor little fellow’s utterances, both conscious and unconscious, had strangely impressed the man, and what had they not awakened in the mother?  And when the words, so solemn and mysterious, fell on those unaccustomed ears in the churchyard, and Fanny, in her wild overpowering grief, threw herself about in an agony of sorrow and remorse, and sobbed with low screams, it was ‘the lady’ whom she viewed as an angel of mercy, who held her and hushed her; and when all was over, and she was sinking down, faint and hysterical, it was ‘the lady’ who—­a little to the scandal of the more respectable—­ helped Drake to carry her to the Rectory, the man obeying like one dazed.

“I must leave the sheep that was lost to you, Rose,” said Julius.  “You can do more for them than I as yet, and they have sent for me to the Hall.”

“You will stay there to-night if they want you; I don’t want any one,” said Rosamond at the door.

He was wanted indeed at his home.  Frank was in a wilder and more raving state than ever, and Raymond so faint and sinking, and with such a look about him, that Julius felt, more than he had ever done before, that though the fever had almost passed away, there was no spirit or strength to rally.  He was very passive, and seemed to have no power to wonder, though he was evidently pleased when Julius told him both of Archie Douglas’s life and the hopes of clearing his name.  “Tell Jenny she was right,” he said, and did not seem inclined to pursue the subject.

They wheeled Mrs. Poynsett away at her usual hour, when he was dozing; and as Frank was still tossing and moaning incoherently, and often required to be held, Julius persuaded Anne to let him take her place with him, while she became Raymond’s watcher.  He dozed about half an hour, and when she next gave him some food, he said, in a very low feeble tone: 

“You have heard from Miles?”

“Yes; he says nothing shall stop him the moment they are paid off.”