The last visit had been to a popular place of resort, where poor Mrs Mallow was, by the advice of the German physician, undergoing a process of being turned into an aqueous solution; at least she was saturated daily with an exceedingly nauseous water, and soaked in it hot for so many hours per week as well. The same great authority recommended it strongly for Julia, who drank the waters daily to the sound of a band. He also advised that the Fraulein Cynthia should take a lesser quantity daily also, to the strains of the German band, at intervals of promenading; but Cynthia merely took one sip and made a pretty grimace, writing word afterwards that the “stuff” was so bad that if the servants at home had been asked to use it to wash their hands there would have been a revolt.
There were other reasons too for calling back the Rev. Eli Mallow, and he sighed, for it was very pleasant abroad, and he foresaw trouble upon his return—parish trouble, the worry of the weddings, contact with Cyril, with whom he had quarrelled bitterly by letter, refusing to furnish him with money, a fact which came hard upon Churchwarden Portlock, who bore it like a martyr, and smoked more pipes as, for some strange reason, he raked up and dwelt strongly upon every scrap of information he could obtain about the progress of Luke Ross in London, even going over to the marketplace occasionally to have a pipe and a chat with old Michael his father.
There was no help for it, and at last the luggage was duly packed, and after poor Mrs Mallow had been carefully carried down, the family started for home, and settled for the time being in one of a handsome row of houses north of the park.
“Yes, my dear, it is—very expensive,” said the Rector, in answer to a remark, almost a remonstrance, from the invalid; “but we must keep up appearances till the girls are married. Then, my dear, we shall be alone, and we will go down to the old home, and there will be nothing to interfere with our quiet, peaceful journey to the end.”
Mrs Mallow turned her soft pensive eyes up to him as he leaned over the couch, and he bent down and kissed her tenderly.
“Well, my darling, who can say?” he whispered. “If more trouble comes, it is our fate, and we will try and bear the burden as best we can.”
“But you will go down now and then to Lawford, Eli?” she said, and the Rector sighed.
“Yes, my dear, I will,” he said; “but at present we must stay in town.” And he placed his hands behind him and walked up and down the room, wishing that he could understand the Lawford people, or that they could understand him, and looking forward with anything but pleasurable anticipations to his next visit.
Just then Julia, looking very pale and dreamy in her half-mourning, entered the room, to come and sit with and read to the invalid, a visitor being below, and her presence not being in any way missed.
Henry, Lord Artingale was the visitor, and as soon as she had left the room Julia became one of the principal topics, for she had seemed of late to have fallen into a dreamy state, now indifferent, now reckless, and Cynthia declared pettishly that she gave her sister up in despair.