“I thought he was drowned?”
“No; that was all a mistake. Miles saw him at Natal. Herbert, this will be life and joy to your sister. What!—you did not know about Jenny and Archie?”
“Not I—Jenny!—poor old Joan! So that’s what has stood in her way, and made her the jolliest of old sisters, is it? Poor old Joanie! What! was she engaged to him?”
“Yes, much against your father’s liking, though he had consented. I remember he forbade it to be spoken of,—and you were at school.”
“And Joan was away nursing old Aunt Joan for two years. So Archie went off with this charge on him, and was thought to be lost! Whew! How did she stand it? I say, does she know he is alive?”
“No, he forbade Miles to speak. No one knows but Miles and I, and our wives. Anne put us on the scent. Now, Herbert, I’ll go to the poor man at once, and you had better find a magistrate.”
“Whom can I find?” said Herbert. “There’s my father away, and Raymond ill, and Lipscombe waved me off—wouldn’t so much as speak to me for fear I should be infectious.”
“You must get a town magistrate.”
“Briggs is frantic since he lost his son, and Truelove thinks he has the fever, though Worth says it is all nonsense. There’s nobody but Whitlock. Dear old Jenny! Well, there always was something different from other people in her, and I never guessed what it was. I’d go to the end of the world to make her happy and get that patient look out of her eyes.”
Herbert had nearly to fulfil this offer, for Mr. Whitlock was gone to London for the day, and magistrates were indeed scarce; but at last, after walking two miles out of the town, his vehemence and determination actually dragged in the unfortunate, timid justice of the peace who had avoided him in the road, but who could not refuse when told in strong earnest that the justification of an innocent man depended on his doing his duty.