"Except that he is like some one you knew?"
"Just so, sir."
Mr. Vernon went away, this being the last bed he had to visit. Next day, the patient was very much worse, and it was some days before she again began to mend. When she was really recovering, Dr. Vernon spoke to her about Fred Giles, but she declared that she remembered nothing about him, and that she must have been dreaming. And in a day or two more, she left the hospital.
Her history since the loss of the children can be told in a few words. She was a long time under medical care, her mind not having recovered completely from the effects of the attack she had at Kelmersdale. When at last she was herself again, she went to Hemsborough, and found an asylum with her sister-in-law. She heard from Lord Beaucourt of her stepson's visit to England, and she guessed that he had discovered that she had not been kind to the children. So she never wrote to him, though in her misery—for she was a very miserable woman—she would have given much to beg for his and Janet's forgiveness. She had lived principally with her sister-in-law, who was not unkind; but sometimes she quarrelled with her nieces, and then she would leave them and take a place somewhere. But her health and her nerves were shattered, and she always broke down before long, and returned to Hemsborough. She did so now, when she left the hospital.
When she was again comfortably settled in her sister-in-law's house, she wrote the following letter to Janet:
"MY DEAR JANET,
"If this ever comes to your hand, try to think less bad of me than I deserve of you. I have suffered for my unkindness, Heaven knows. I have been a wretched woman. I hope you and Fred have not been as wretched as I am, but I dare not think of what you must have felt.
"I would not venture to write now but for one thing. I have always felt that there was a chance that the children were not drowned in the Kelmer. And I think I saw one of them, a tall, handsome young man, studying to be a doctor. I could not think any one could be so like your husband but little Fred, who was always so like him. But he calls himself Frederick Giles, and when I was well and left the hospital, I found out where he was lodging, and made what inquiry I could. He comes from a place near Cirencester, called Edgestone, and he had gone home. I could do no more, having no money but what would take me home to my sister's house in Hemsborough. I am weak and ill, more in mind than in body, and so the best thing I can do is to tell you this, and if you tell me what to do, I will do it. But I know that you and Fred will come home to see for yourselves, if you can afford it.
"I am not long for this world. I suppose there is no use in asking you two to forgive me; I cannot forgive myself. I am a wretched woman, and have no hope. But if you find the boys, perhaps you might forgive me. Fred Giles is the adopted son of a doctor in Edgestone. That is all I know.
"LYDIA RAYBURN."
In the years that had passed since the loss of the boys, Fred Rayburn had quite lived down the prejudice against him which had prevented Gilbert Gray from making him the first manager of the Royal Victoria Hotel in Gattigo. But when the first manager gave up the situation, Fred was able to take it; and the hotel had been most successful under him and Janet, and had made both Gilbert Gray and Fred Rayburn rich and prosperous men. The Rayburns now lived in a pretty house two or three miles from Old Man's Ferry Farm, where Janet and her daughter had no more arduous work to do than to keep house and see after their garden. Fred drove into Gattigo every day, and the hotel still flourished without a rival.
The important letter was addressed to Old Man's Ferry Farm, and when it arrived there, Gilbert and his wife, always glad to visit the Rayburns, ordered their well-appointed phaeton, with its two pretty ponies, and inquired if any of the young people would like to fill the back seat.
Several of the young people wanted to go, for cousin Lily was a general favourite; and while the boys were arguing about their claims to the seat, the two elder girls slipped quietly away to the stable and came round to the door in possession of the places. Gil and Emile and the rest were naturally very indignant, but the girls only smiled serenely, and were soon bowling smoothly along the well-made road, very different from the rough track by which Janet reached the farm on her first arrival.
"The Gables," as the Rayburns called their home, certainly deserved its name. It had been added to by many hands, and in many styles, and how many gables there were I should be afraid to conjecture. Janet and her daughter had made a pretty garden close to the house; to be sure, it was only a corner of a field well fenced with high palisades and wire netting, but it was full of flowers in summer, and afforded as much pleasure to its owners as any walled garden in the dear "old country." Lily and her mother were at work among their flowers when the Grays drove up. Out ran Lily, followed by Janet, who, however, remembered to shut the gate.