In the picturesque and beautiful country of Loamshire they still tell of the funeral, the extraordinary crowd of people assembled to pay the last mark of homage to Lady Clarice Alden.
Perhaps most pity of all was given to the hapless lady’s mother, Mrs. Severn, a handsome, stately, white-haired old lady, little accustomed to demonstration of any kind. She had apologized for her excessive grief by saying to every one:
“She was my only child, you know, and I loved her so dearly—my only one.”
The long ceremony was over at last and the mourners returned to Aldenmere.
The morning afterward the blinds were drawn. Once more the blessed sunlight filled the rooms with light and warmth; once more the servants spoke in their natural voices and the younger ones became more anxious as to whether their new mourning was becoming or not; but the master of the house was not sensible to anything—the terrible tragedy had done its worst; Sir Ronald Alden of Aldenmere lay in the clutches of fierce fever, battling for life.
The sympathy of the whole neighborhood was aroused. The murder had been bad enough; but that it should also cause Sir Ronald’s death was too terrible to contemplate.
Mrs. Severn remained to nurse her son-in-law; but after a time his illness became too dangerous, and the doctors sent for two trained nurses who could give the needful care to the sick man.
It was a close and terrible fight. Sir Ronald had naturally a strong and magnificent constitution; it seemed as though he fought inch by inch for his life. He was delirious, but it hardly seemed like the ordinary delirium of fever; it was one long, incessant muttering, no one could tell what, and just when the doctors were beginning to despair and the nurses to grow weary of what seemed an almost helpless task, Kenelm Eyrle came to the rescue. He took up his abode at Aldenmere and devoted himself to Sir Ronald. His strength and patience were both great; he was possessed of such intense vitality himself, and such power of will, that he soon established a marvelous influence over the patient.
For some days the contest seemed even—life and death were equally balanced—Sir Ronald was weak as a feeble infant, but the terrible brain fever was conquered, and the doctors gave a slight hope of his recovery. Then it was that Kenelm’s help was invaluable; his strong arm guided the feeble steps, his cheerful words roused him, his strong will influenced him, and that Sir Ronald did recover, after God, was owing to his friend.
When he was well enough to think of moving about, the doctors strongly advised him to go away from the scene of the fatal tragedy.