Cecilia mentioned a junction railway station they had ridden to; and thence, boxing the horses, by train to Bevisham.  Rosamund understood that some haunting anxiety had fretted Nevil during the night; in the morning he could not withstand it, and he begged Cecilia to change their destination, apparently with a vehemence of entreaty that had been irresistible, or else it was utter affection for him had reduced her to undertake the distasteful journey.  She admitted that she was not the most sympathetic companion Nevil could have had on the way, either going or coming.  She had not entered Dr. Shrapnel’s cottage.  Remaining on horseback she had seen the poor man reclining in his garden chair.  Mr. Lydiard was with him, and also his ward Miss Denham, who had been summoned by telegraph by one of the servants from Switzerland.  And Cecilia had heard Nevil speak of his uncle to her, and too humbly, she hinted.  Nor had the expression of Miss Denham’s countenance in listening to him pleased her; but it was true that a heavily burdened heart cannot be expected to look pleasing.  On the way home Cecilia had been compelled in some degree to defend Mr. Romfrey.  Blushing through her tears at the remembrance of a past emotion that had been mixed with foresight, she confessed to Rosamund she thought it now too late to prevent a rupture between Nevil and his uncle.  Had some one whom Nevil trusted and cared for taken counsel with him and advised him before uncle and nephew met to discuss this most unhappy matter, then there might have been hope.  As it was, the fate of Dr. Shrapnel had gained entire possession of Nevil.  Every retort of his uncle’s in reference to it rose up in him:  he used language of contempt neighbouring abhorrence:  he stipulated for one sole thing to win back his esteem for his uncle; and that was, the apology to Dr. Shrapnel.

‘And to-night,’ Cecilia concluded, ’he will request Mr. Romfrey to accompany him to Bevisham to-morrow morning, to make the apology in person.  He will not accept the slightest evasion.  He thinks Dr. Shrapnel may die, and the honour of the family—­what is it he says of it?’ Cecilia raised her eyes to the ceiling, while Rosamund blinked in impatience and grief, just apprehending the alien state of the young lady’s mind in her absence of recollection, as well as her bondage in the effort to recollect accurately.

‘Have you not eaten any food to-day, Miss Halkett?’ she said; for it might be the want of food which had broken her and changed her manner.

Cecilia replied that she had ridden for an hour to Mount Laurels.

‘Alone?  Mr. Romfrey must not hear of that,’ said Rosamund.