Nothing was heard of James for more than a week, and, as London grew hotter, dustier, and drearier than ever, Fitzjocelyn longed, more than he thought wholesome to confess, after Ormersfield turf, the deep ravines, and rushing brooks.  The sun shone almost through the blind of the open window on the large library table, where sat Louis at his own end, writing to his Inglewood bailiff, and now and then solacing himself by lifting with the feather of his pen one of the bells of a delicate lily in a glass before him—­a new spectacle on the Earl’s writing-table; and so was a strip of vellum, with illuminations rich and rare—­Louis’s indulgence when he felt he had earned an hour’s leisure.  There was a ring at the door, a step on the stairs, and before the father and son stood James, his little black bag in his hand, like himself, all dust, and his face worn, heated, and tired.

‘Then you have not heard from Cheveleigh?’ he said, in answer to their astonished greetings, producing a note, which was eagerly read:—­

’Dearest Jem,—­My uncle says I may write to you, in case you can leave Isabel, that he will be glad to see you.  I told you that dear grandmamma had a cold, and so we would not let her come to Isabel; but I little guessed what was coming.  It only seemed a feverish cold, and Jane and I almost laughed at my uncle for choosing to send for a doctor.  He was not alarmed at first, but yesterday she was inert and sleepy, and he asked for more advice.  Dr. Hastings came to-day, and oh!  Jem, he calls it a breaking up of the constitution, and does not think she will rally.  She knows us, but she is almost always drowsy, and very hard to rouse.  If you can come without hurting Isabel, I know you will.  We want you all the more, because my uncle will not let me send for Mr. Danvers.  Poor Uncle Oliver is dreadfully troubled. 
                           ‘Your most affectionate Clara.’

‘Transplantation has killed her—­I knew it would!’ said James, as Louis stood, with the note in his hand, as if not yet understanding the blow.

‘Nay,’ said the Earl, ’it is an age at which we could hardly hope she would long be spared.  You could leave Mrs. James Frost with comfort?’

’Yes, Miss Mercy undertakes her—­she is doing well—­she would not hear of my staying.  I must go on, the train starts at two,’ he added, hastily, looking at the time-piece.

‘We will send you,’ said Lord Ormersfield.  ’Take time to rest.  You look very ill!  You should have some luncheon.’

‘No, thank you!’ said James, at first with the instinct of resistance; but yielding and confessing, ’Charlotte went into hysterics, and I had nothing to eat before I came away.’

Louis came forward from the window where he had been standing as in a dream, he laid his hand on James’s shoulder, and said, ‘I will go!’ His voice was hardly audible, but, clearing it, and striving to recall his thoughts, he added, ’Father, I can be spared.  The division is not coming on to-night, or you could get me a pair.’