Poor Miles!  Never had sailor a stranger, though some may have had an even sadder, return.  He had indeed found his wife, but hers was the only hand that could make Frank swallow the sustenance that he needed every half-hour, or who knew how to relieve him.  Indeed, even the being together in the sick-room was not long possible, for Anne was called to the door.  Mr. Charnock was asking to see Mrs. Poynsett.  Would Mrs. Miles come and speak to him?

Mr. Charnock was a small and restless man with white hair, little black eyes, looking keener than they were, and a face which had evidently been the mould of Cecil’s.  He was very kind, with a full persuasion that the consolations of his august self must be infallible; but this was coupled with an inclination to reprove everybody for the fate that had left his cherished darling a childless widow at two-and-twenty.  To take him to Frank’s room was impossible, and he had to be roundly told so.  Neither had he seen his daughter.  She was very weak, but recovering, and Grindstone, whom he had seen and talked with, was as strenuous in deprecating any excitement as he was nervous about it.  So he could only be disposed of in his room till dinner-time, when he came down prepared to comfort the family, but fulfilled his mission rather by doing such good as a blister, which lessens the force of the malady by counter-irritation.

Julius came up to be with Miles, and to help them through the dinner, the first which had been laid for many a long day.  His enquiry for Cecil was answered:  “She is progressing as favourably as there can be reason to expect, but I have not seen her.  I follow the judgment of her faithful Grindstone.”

“Then she still knows nothing—­”

“Of her bereavement?  No.  Her state does not yet warrant it.  In fact, I almost wish I had obeyed my original impulse, and brought down Venn to make the melancholy communication.”

To every one’s surprise Anne bristled up, saying, “Why, here is Julius, Mr. Charnock!”

Mr. Charnock bowed:  “I understand that my Cousin Julius has been engrossed by his wife’s family and by the adjoining parish, the care of which he has assumed.”

Anne fairly coloured up, and exclaimed, “Julius has been our main-stay and help in everything—­I can’t think how he has done it.  He has been here whenever we needed him, as well as at Wil’sbro’, where people have been dying everywhere, the poor Vicar and all—­”

“Far be it from me to discourage philanthropy,” said Mr. Charnock, “only I would have it within due bounds.  I am an old-fashioned squire, of a school, it may be, antiquated, an advocate of the parochial system; and I cannot help thinking that if this had been closely adhered to by hot-headed young clergymen, my poor child might not have been a childless widow at two-and-twenty.”

Julius was too much tired and too sad-hearted to heed greatly what Mr. Charnock said.  It was so strange to have Miles in sight, yet to feel so unable to be glad, that he scarcely heard anything.  But Anne again took up the cudgels:  “Mr. Charnock, you don’t suppose that it was anything Julius did that brought this fever here.  It was going to the town-hall among the drains.”