"I suppose he was," said Clarice, wearily. "But now, Anthony, you must see the new lawyer"--she gave him the name--"and arrange everything for me. Send Ferdy to Australia with Prudence. I never wish to see him again. I am so sick and tired, and ill--oh"--she put her arms round his neck, and placed her cheek against his--"I am ill--I am very, very ill."
And she was. Anthony had to carry her to her room, and there she lay for three weeks between life and death. Wentworth said that she had narrowly escaped an attack of brain fever. But the devotion of Mrs. Rebson brought her successfully back to health. Yet for weeks she was still weak, although out of danger, and Anthony would not allow her to talk of the past. She never asked for Ferdy, although the brother she had been devoted to never put in an appearance. Ackworth saw the new lawyer and arranged the affairs of the estate, and made all provisions for his marriage.
Six months later they were married very quietly in the parish church of Anthony's native town, and went for the honeymoon to Switzerland. There, one day, while sitting on the mountains above Les Avants, watching the grey peak of Jaman soaring into the cloudless summer sky, Clarice heard all that her husband knew about the conclusion of the troubles which had begun with the death of Horran.
"Ferdy is in Australia, as you know, darling," Said the lover-husband, "and is married to Prudence. Mr. Clarke writes me that Ferdy is behaving very well, and is studying for a doctor. Mr. Clarke himself has got a church up the country in Victoria. I think everything is right there."
"He is getting the five hundred a year, as you arranged, my dear. When he is twenty-five, of course, he will get the two thousand, and let us hope he will be more sensible."
"I hope so," sighed Mrs. Ackworth, "but Ferdy is a most extraordinary character. He never seems to think that he is in the wrong."
"Well, a wife like Prudence will keep him straight. Then Osip, as you know, is dead--"
"No! no!"--Clarice clung to her husband--"don't talk of such things in this place, Anthony. I never wish to hear the man's name again."
"I won't mention it," said Anthony, gravely. "But for your peace of mind, dear, I may tell you that he held his tongue to the last. Everyone thinks that Osip killed Horran, as he killed Barras, and Jerce is looked upon as a martyr. Would you like me to read his obituary notices? I kept them."
"No! I don't wish to hear. But there are two things I should like to know," added Clarice, thoughtfully. "Firstly, how you fancied that you saw Uncle Henry at the Shah's Rooms?"