The inconvenience was great, but relapse was such an imminent danger, that it was needful to give up everything to her; and Mr. Charnock, regarding his daughter’s sufferings as the only ones worth consideration, seemed to pursue Rosamond the instant she had sat down by the still feeble, weary, convalescent Terry, imploring her to return to Cecil with the irresistible force of tearful eyes and piteous descriptions; and as Terry had a week’s start in recovery, and was not a widow under twenty-two, he had to submit, and lie as contentedly as he could in his solitude.
Susan could be better spared to Cecil’s morbid fancy of being waited on by her who had attended her husband, for Miles and Anne were sufficient for Mrs. Poynsett and Frank. The long-sundered husband and wife scarcely saw each other, except over Frank’s bed, and Mr. Charnock was on the Captain’s hands whenever he came beyond it. On the Wednesday, however, Julius, who had only once spoken to his brother alone, came up to the breakfast-table where he and Mr. Charnock were sitting, and hurt the feelings of the latter by first asking for Frank. “He had slept all night, and only half woke when Miles and Anne changed watch and gave him beef-tea. Cecil, very moaning and restless—more fever about her, poor dear. When would Lady Rosamond come up?—she was asking for her.” When she had seen to a few things at home, given her brother his breakfast, and seen to poor Herbert; he had had a dreadful night, and that Cranstoun would shut the window unless some one defended him. Mr. Charnock began to resume his daughter’s symptoms, when Julius, at the first pause, said:
“Have you finished, Miles? Could you speak to me in the library a minute? I beg your pardon, Mr. Charnock, but my time is short.”
“I hope—I quite understand. Do not let me be in your way.” And the brothers repaired to the library, where Julius’s first words were, “Miles, you must make up your mind. They are getting up a requisition to you to stand for Wil’sbro’.”
“To me?”
“You are the most obvious person, and the feeling for dear Raymond is so strong as to prevent any contest. Whitlock told Bindon yesterday that you should have no trouble.”
“I can’t. It is absurd. I know nothing about it. My poor mother bred up Raymond for nothing else. Don’t you remember how she made him read history, volumes upon volumes, while I was learning nothing but the ropes? I declare, Julius, there he goes.”
“Who?”
“Why, that old ass, down to hunt up poor Rosamond; I don’t believe he thinks there’s any one in the world but his daughter. I declare I’ll hail him and stop him.”
“No, no, Miles, Rosamond can take care of herself. She won’t come till she has seen to her patients down there; and, after all, Cecil’s is the saddest case, poor thing. To return. If you don’t take to politics in the end, I think you should let them put you in now, if only as a stop-gap, or we shall get some one whom it may not be easy to get rid of.”