Sabina saw that he was perturbed when presently he joined Miss Ironsyde.  He had drunk more than enough and proved irritable.

He was, however, silent at first, while his aunt discussed the wedding.  She took it for granted that it would be in church and reminded Raymond of necessary steps.

“And certain people should be asked,” she said.  “Have you any friends you particularly wish to be there?  Mr. Churchouse is planning a wedding breakfast—­”

“No—­none of my friends will be there if I can help it.  They’re not that sort.”

“Have you written to Daniel?”

“‘Written to Daniel’!  Good God, no!  What should I write to Daniel, but to tell him he’s the biggest cur and hound on earth?”

“You’ve passed all that.  You’re not going back again, Raymond.  You know what you said last time when we talked about it.”

“If he’s ever to be more than a name to me, he must apologise for being a low down brute, first.  I’ve got plenty on my mind without thinking about him.  He’s going to rue the day he treated me as he has done.  I’ll bring him and Bridetown Mill to the gutter, yet.”

“Don’t, don’t, please.  I thought you felt last time we were talking about him—­”

“Drop him—­don’t mention his name to me—­I won’t hear it.  If you want me to go on with my life with self-respect, then keep his name out of my life.  I’ve cursed him to hell once and for all, so talk of something else!”

Jenny Ironsyde saw that her nephew was in a dark temper, and while at heart she felt indignant and ashamed, more for Sabina’s sake than his own, she humoured him, spoke of the future and strove to win him back into a cheerful mind.

Then as they were going to dinner, at half-past seven o’clock, the maid who announced the meal, brought with her a telegram.  It was directed to ‘Ironsyde’ only, and, putting on her glasses, Jenny read it.

Daniel had been very seriously injured in a railway accident at York.

Remorse strikes the young with cruel bitterness.  Raymond turned pale and staggered.  While he had been cursing his brother, the man lay smitten, perhaps at the door of death.  His aunt it was who steadied him and turned to the time-table.  Then she went to her store of ready money.  In an hour Raymond was on his way.  It might be possible for him to catch a midnight train for the North from London and reach York before morning.

When he had gone, Jenny turned to Sabina, who had spoken no word during this scene.

“Much may come of this,” she said.  “God works in mysterious ways.  I have no fear that Raymond will fail in his duty to dear Daniel at such a time.  Come back early to-morrow, Sabina.  I shall get a telegram, as soon as Raymond can despatch it, and shall hold myself in readiness to go at once and stop with Daniel.  Tell Mister Churchouse what has happened.”

The lady spent the night in packing.  Her sufferings and anxieties were allayed by occupation; but the long hours seemed unending.