“I am glad to hear it.”

“Yes, Mr. Charnock, I trust I have learnt something in this spell of work.  I’ve not been for nothing in such scenes with those Sisters and young Bowater.  I’m more ignorant than half the poor things that I’ve heard talk of their faith and hope; but I see it is not the decorous humbug it once looked like.  And now that I would have learnt, here I go to Monaco.”

“You will learn.  You have a work before you that will teach you.”

“My boys are young enough to start with on a different tack,” she said.  “You will tell me—­no—­I’ll not hinder you now.  I shall see you again.”

Julius was too anxious to get home to refuse to be released, much as he felt for this brave woman.  The day before, Herbert had been frightfully faint and exhausted by the morning’s attack of fever, but had been so still ever since that there was a shade of hope that the recurrence might not take place; and this hope grew stronger, when Jenny came into the outer room to say that the usual time for the fever was passing so quietly in a sort of sleep that Dr. Worth seemed to think rally possible, if only there was no fresh access.

They stood over the fire, and Julius asked, “Can’t you lie on the sofa, Jenny?  I can stay.”

“No,” said Jenny, restlessly.  “No, I can’t.  I know you have something to tell me.”

“Moy has come home, Jenny.  He is in terrible trouble.  His daughter has eloped with young Simmonds at the training stables.”

“The most appropriate end of her bringing up,” said Jenny, in the hard tone it was so difficult to answer—­it was so unlike herself—­ and her thought was that weak pity and forbearance would hinder exertions in Archie’s cause.  “Generous at other folks’ expense,” said she to herself.  “Sparing the guilty and leaving the innocent to exile!”

But a moaning murmur, and Cranstoun’s movement at once summoned them both to the bedside.

Alas! here was the attack that the doctor had evidently apprehended as likely to be fatal.  Hour after hour did sister, nurse, and friend stand watching, and doing their best, their piteously little best, while consciousness, if there was any, was far out of their reach.

Late into the night it went on, and then followed the collapse, with locked teeth, which could hardly be drawn asunder to put the stimulus hopelessly between them, and thus came the tardy December dawn, when the church-bell made Jenny bid Julius not stay, but only first read the commendatory prayer.

“I thought there was a little more revival just now,” he said; “his hands are warmer, and he really did swallow.”

The old nurse shook her head.  “That’s the way before they go,” said she.  “Don’t ye wish him, poor lamb, it makes it the harder for him.”

Julius prayed the prayer, and as he tenderly laid his hand on the brow, he wondered whether he should find the half-closed eyes shut for ever on his return.