‘Plain; that’s right,’ said Lord Romfrey.

Black appeared to him like the torch of death flying over the country.

‘There may be hope,’ he added.

She sighed:  ‘Oh! yes.’

‘Gannet will do everything that man can do to save him.’

‘He will, I am sure.’

‘You don’t keep watch in the room, my dear, do you?’

’Miss Denham allows me an hour there in the day:  it is the only rest she takes.  She gives me her bedroom.’

‘Ha:  well:  women!’ ejaculated the earl, and paused.  ’That sounded like him!’

‘At times,’ murmured Cecilia.  ’All yesterday! all through the night! and to-day!’

‘He’ll be missed.’

Any sudden light of happier expectation that might have animated him was extinguished by the flight of chatter following the cry which had sounded like Beauchamp.

He went out into the rain, thinking that Beauchamp would be missed.  The fellow had bothered the world, but the world without him would be heavy matter.

The hour was mid-day, workmen’s meal-time.  A congregation of shipyard workmen and a multitude of children crowded near the door.  In passing through them, Lord Romfrey was besought for the doctor’s report of Commander Beauchamp, variously named Beesham, Bosham, Bitcham, Bewsham.  The earl heard his own name pronounced as he particularly disliked to hear it—­Rumfree.  Two or three men scowled at him.

It had not occurred to him ever before in his meditations to separate his blood and race from the common English; and he was not of a character to dwell on fantastical and purposeless distinctions, but the mispronunciation of his name and his nephew’s at an instant when he was thinking of Nevil’s laying down his life for such men as these gross excessive breeders, of ill shape and wooden countenance, pushed him to reflections on the madness of Nevil in endeavouring to lift them up and brush them up; and a curious tenderness for Nevil’s madness worked in his breast as he contrasted this much-abused nephew of his with our general English—­the so-called nobles, who were sunk in the mud of the traders:  the traders, who were sinking in the mud of the workmen:  the workmen, who were like harbour-flats at ebb tide round a stuck-fast fleet of vessels big and little.

Decidedly a fellow like Nevil would be missed by him!

These English, huddling more and more in flocks, turning to lumps, getting to be cut in a pattern and marked by a label—­how they bark and snap to rend an obnoxious original!  One may chafe at the botheration everlastingly raised by the fellow; but if our England is to keep her place she must have him, and many of him.  Have him?  He’s gone!

Lord Romfrey reasoned himself into pathetic sentiment by degrees.

He purchased the note paper and envelopes in the town for Cecilia.  Late in the afternoon he deposited them on the parlour table at Dr. Shrapnel’s.  Miss Denham received him.  She was about to lie down for her hour of rest on the sofa.  Cecilia was upstairs.  He inquired if there was any change in his nephew’s condition.