‘I always tried to do Him service!’ Sadly and dejectedly as the words were spoken—­mournful as was the contrast between the will and the result, this was the true cause that there was peace with Louis.  Unstable, negligent, impetuous, and weak as he had been, the one earnest purpose had been his, guarding the heart, though not yet controlling the judgment.  His soul was awake to the unseen, and thus the sense of the reality of bliss ineffable, and power to take comfort in the one great Sacrifice, came with no novelty nor strangeness.  It was a more solemn, more painful preparation, but such as he had habitually made, only now it was for a more perfect Festival.

His father, as much awestruck by his hopes as distressed by his penitence, still gave himself credit for having soothed him, and went to meet and forewarn the Vicar that poor Fitzjocelyn was inclined to despond, and was attaching such importance to the merest, foibles in a most innocent life, that he required the most tender and careful encouragement.  He spoke in his usual tone of authoritative courtesy; and then, finding that his son wished to be left alone with Mr. Holdsworth, he went to the library to seek the only person to whom he could bear to talk.

‘Mary,’ he said, ’you were right.  I have done so little to make that poor boy of mine happy, that he does not wish for life.’

Mrs. Ponsonby looked up surprised.  ‘Are you sure of what he meant?’ she said.  ’Was it not that this life has nothing to compare with that which is to come?’

‘But what can be more unnatural?’ said the Earl.  ’At his age, with everything before him, nothing but what he felt as my harshness could so have checked hope and enjoyment.  My poor Louis!’ And, though eye and voice were steady and tearless, no words could express the anguish of his under-tone.

Mrs. Ponsonby adduced instances showing that, to early youth, with heart still untainted by the world, the joys of the Life Everlasting have often so beamed out as to efface all that earth could promise, but he could not be argued out of self-reproach for his own want of sympathy, and spoke mournfully of his cold manner, sternness to small faults, and denial of gratifications.

Mary the younger could not help rising from her corner to say, ’Indeed, Louis said the other day that you never had denied him any personal indulgence.’

‘My dear, he never asked for personal indulgences,’ said the Earl.  His further speech was interrupted by a quick step, a slow opening of the door, and the entrance of James Frost, who grasped his outstretched hand with a breathless inquiry.

‘He is very ill—­’ Lord Ormersfield paused, too much oppressed to say more.

‘No better?  What did the London surgeon say? what?’

’He says there is no time to be lost in attacking the inflammation.  If we can subdue that, he may recover; but the state of the ankle weakens him severely.  I believe myself that he is going fast,’ said the Earl, with the same despairing calmness; and James, after gazing at him to collect his meaning, dropped into a chair, covered his face with his hands, and sobbed aloud.