Light now, as of a strong memory of day along the street, assisted him to forget himself at the sight of the inanimate houses of this London, all revealed in a quietness not less immobile than tombstones of an unending cemetery, with its last ghost laid.  Did men but know it!—­The habitual necessity to amass matter for the weekly sermon, set him noting his meditative exclamations, the noble army of platitudes under haloes, of good use to men:  justifiably turned over in his mind for their good.  He had to think, that this act of the justifying of the act reproached him with a lack of due emotion, in sympathy with agonized friends truly dear.  Drawing near the hospitable house, his official and a cordial emotion united, as we see sorrowful crape-wreathed countenances.  His heart struck heavily when the house was visible.

Could it be the very house?  The look of it belied the tale inside.  But that threw a ghostliness on the look.

Some one was pacing up and down.  They greeted Dudley Sowerby.  His ability to speak was tasked.  They gathered, that mademoiselle and ’a Miss Pridden’ were sitting with Nesta, and that their services in a crisis had been precious.  At such times, one of them reflected, woman has indeed her place:  when life’s battle waxes red.  Her soul must be capable of mounting to the level of the man’s, then?  It is a lesson!

Dudley said he was waiting for Dr. Themison to come forth.  He could not tear himself from sight of the house.

The door opened to Dr. Themison departing, Colney Durance and Simeon Fenellan bare-headed.  Colney showed a face with stains of the lashing of tears.

Dr. Themison gave his final counsels.  ’Her father must not see her.  For him, it may have to be a specialist.  We will hope the best.  Mr. Dartrey Fenellan stays beside him:—­good.  As to the ceremony he calls for, a form of it might soothe:—­any soothing possible!  No music.  I will return in a few hours.’

He went on foot.

Mr. Barmby begged advice from Colney and Simeon concerning the message he had received—­the ceremony requiring his official presidency.  Neither of them replied.  They breathed the morning air, they gave out long-drawn sighs of relief, looking on the trees of the park.

A man came along the pavement, working slow legs hurriedly.  Simeon ran down to him.

‘Humour, as much as you can,’ Colney said to Mr. Barmby.  ’Let him imagine.’

‘Miss Radnor?’

‘Not to speak of her.’

‘The daughter he so loves?’

Mr. Barmby’s tender inquisitiveness was unanswered.  Were they inducing him to mollify a madman?  But was it possible to associate the idea of madness with Mr. Radnor?

Simeon ran back.  ‘Jarniman,’ he remarked.  ‘It’s over!’

‘Now!’ Colney’s shoulders expressed the comment.  ’Well, now, Mr. Barmby, you can do the part desired.  Come in.  It’s morning!’ He stared at the sky.