“I must, I fear; I promised to come to Fuller if he be still here. I will speak to Jenkins first.”
Julius was living like a soldier in a campaign, with numbers dropping beside him, and no time to mourn, scarcely to realize the loss, and he went on, almost as if he had been a stranger; while the grief of poor old Jenkins was uncontrollable, both for his lady’s sake and for the young master, who had been his pride and glory. His sobs brought out Mrs. Grindstone into the gallery, to insist, with some asperity, that there should be no noise to awaken her mistress, who was in a sweet sleep.
“We will take care,” said Julius, sadly. “I suppose she had better hear nothing till Mr. Charnock comes.”
“She must be left to me, sir, or I cannot be answerable for the consequences,” was the stiff reply, wherewith Mrs. Grindstone retreated into her castle.
Julius left the hushed and veiled house, in the frosty chill of the late autumn just before dawn, shivering between grief and cold, and he walked quickly down the avenue, feeling it strange that the windows in the face of his own house were glittering back the reflection of the setting moon.
Something long and black came from the opposite direction. “Rector,” it said, in a low hoarse voice, “I’ve got leave from him to use what he said to you. Sister Margaret and I signed it. Will that do?”
“I can’t tell now, Herbert, I can’t think. My brother is just gone,” said Julius in his inward voice.
“Raymond! No! Oh, I beg your pardon; I never thought of that; Raymond—”
“Go home and go to bed,” said Julius, as the young man wrung his hand. “Rest now—we must think another time.”
Did Rosamond know? was perhaps the foremost of his weary thoughts. Ah! did she not! Was she not standing with her crimson shawl round her, and the long black plaits falling on it, to beckon him to the firelit comfort of his own room? Did she not fall on his neck as he came heavily up, and cling around him with her warm arms? “Oh, Julius, what a dear brother he was! What can we do for your mother?”