As he told her how Frank’s need did more than any support could do for her, her tears came thicker; but in spite of them, her fond hands put him into the easy-chair by the fire, and drew off his damp boots; and while listening to the low sunken voice that told her of the end, she made ready the cup of cocoa that was waiting, and put the spoon in his hand in a caressing manner, that made her care, comfort, not oppression. Fatigue seconded her, for he took the warm food, faltered and leant back, dozing till the baby’s voice awoke him, and as he saw Rosamond hushing her, he exclaimed:
“O, Rose! if poor Raymond had ever known one hour like this!” and he held out his arms for his child.
“You know I don’t let you hold her in that coat. Go into your dressing-room, have your bath, and put on your dressing-gown, and if you will lie on the bed, you shall take care of her while I go and feed Terry. You can’t do anything for anybody yet, it is only six o’clock.”
These precautions, hindering his going jaded and exhausted into infection, were what Rosamond seemed to live for, though she never forced them on him, and he was far too physically tired out not to yield to the soothing effect; so that even two hours on the bed sent him forth renovated to that brief service in the church, where Herbert and he daily met and found their strength for the day. They had not had time to exchange a word after it before there was a knock at the vestry door, and a servant gave the message to Herbert, who had opened it: “Lady Tyrrell is taken worse, sir, and Sir Harry Vivian begged that Mr. Charnock would come immediately.”
A carriage had been sent for him, and he could only hurry home to tell Rosamond to send on the pony to Sirenwood, to take him to Wil’sbro’, unless he were first wanted at home. She undertook to go up to the Hall and give Anne a little rest, and he threw himself into the carriage, not daring to dwell on the pain it gave him to go from his brother’s death bed to confront Camilla.
At the door Eleonora came to meet him. “Thank you,” she said. “We knew it was no time to disturb you.”
“I can be better spared now,” answered Julius.
“You don’t mean,” she said, with a strange look, which was not quite surprise.
“Yes, my dear brother left us at about three o’clock last night. A change came on at twelve.”
“Twelve!” Eleonora laid her hand on his arm, and spoke in a quick agitated manner. “Camilla was much better till last night, when at twelve I heard such a scream that I ran into her room. She was sitting up with her eyes fixed open, like a clairvoyante, and her voice seemed pleading—pleading with him, as if for pardon, and she held out her hands and called him. Then, suddenly, she gave a terrible shriek, and fell back in a kind of fit. Mr. M’Vie can do nothing, and though she is conscious now, she does nothing but ask for you and say that he does not want you now.”