Anne Hereford. Mrs. Henry Wood
name is Anne Ursula."
"And what was your father's name? And what your mother's?"
"Papa's was Thomas, and mamma's Ursula," I answered, wondering very much.
He wrote down the name, asked a few more questions, and then showed me out at the street-door, giving a parting injunction that I was not to forget the words of his message to Mrs. Edwin Barley, and not to mention abroad that I had been to his office.
Reaching home without hindrance, I was about to enter the sickroom, when Miss Delves softly called to me from the upper stairs: Mrs. Edwin Barley was sleeping, and must not be disturbed. So I went higher up to take my things off, and Charlotte Delves asked me into her chamber--a very nice one, immediately over Mrs. Edwin Barley's.
"Tread softly, my dear. If she can only sleep, it will do her good."
I would not tread at all, though the carpet was thick and soft, but sat down on the first chair. Miss Delves was changing her cap. She wore very nice ones always.
"Miss Delves, I wish you'd please to tell me. Do you think my aunt will get well?"
"It is to be hoped so," was the answer. "But Mr. Edwin Barley is fretting himself to fiddle-strings over it."
"Do you think she will?"
Miss Delves was combing out her long flaxen curls; bright thick curls they were; very smooth, and of an exceedingly light shade. She twirled two round her finger before she answered.
"Yes, I think she will. It is true that she is very ill--very; but, on the other hand, she has youth in her favour."
"Is she dangerously ill?"
"No doubt. But how many people are there, lying in danger daily, who recover! The worst of it is, she is so excited, so restless: the doctors don't like that. It is not to be wondered at, with this trouble in the house; she could not have fallen ill at a more unfortunate time. I think she has a good constitution."
"Mamma used to say that all the Carews had that. They were in general long-lived."
Charlotte Delves looked round at me. "Your mamma was not long-lived. She died young--so to say."
"But mamma's illness came on first from an accident. She was hurt in India. Oh Miss Delves! can't anything be done to cure my Aunt Selina?"
"My dear, everything will be done that it is possible to do. The doctors talk of the shock to the system; but, as I say, she is young. You must not be too anxious; it would answer no end. Had you a nice walk this morning?"
"Yes."
She finished her hair, and put on the pretty cap, its rich lace lappets falling behind the curls. Then she took up her watch and chain, and looked out at the window as she put them round her neck.
"Here's a policeman coming to the house! I wonder what he wants?"
"Has there been any news yet of George Heneage?"
"None," she answered. "Heneage Grange is being watched."
"Is that where he lives?"
"It is his father's place."
"And is it near to here?"
"Oh, no. More than a hundred miles away. The police think it not improbable that he escaped there at once. The Grange has been searched for him, we hear, unsuccessfully. But the police are by no means sure that he is not concealed there, and they have set a watch."
"Oh dear! I hope they will not find him!"
I said it with a shudder. The finding of George Heneage seemed to promise I knew not what renewal of horror. Charlotte Delves turned her eyes upon me in astonishment and reproof.
"You hope they will not find him! You cannot know what you are saying, Miss Hereford. I think I would give half the good that is left in my life to have him found--and hung. What right had he to take that poor young man's life? or to bring this shocking trouble into a gentleman's family?"
Very true. Of course he had none.
"Mr. Edwin Barley has taken a vow to track him out; and he will be sure to do it, sooner or later. We will go down, Miss Hereford."
The policeman had not come upon the business, at all, but about some poaching matter. Mr. Edwin Barley came out of his wife's room as we were creeping by it. Charlotte Delves asked if Mrs. Edwin was awake?
"Awake? Yes! and in a fine excitable state," he answered, irritably. "She does not sleep three minutes together. It is giving herself no chance of recovery. She has got it in her head now that she's going to die, and is sending for Martin."
He strode down to the waiting policeman. Charlotte Delves went into Mrs. Edwin Barley's room, and took me. Selina's cheeks were still hectic with fever; her blue eyes bright and wild.
"If you would but try to calm yourself, Mrs. Edwin Barley!"
"I am as calm as I can expect to be," was her answer, given with some petulance. "My husband need not talk; he's worse than I am. He says now the doctors are treating me wrongly, and that he shall call in a fresh one. I suppose I shall die between them."
"I wish I knew what would soothe you," spoke Charlotte Delves, in a kind, pleasant voice.
"I'm very thirsty; I've taken all the lemonade; you can fetch me up some more. Anne, do you stay here."
Charlotte Delves took down the lemonade waiter, and Selina drew me to her. "The message, Anne!--the message! Did you see Mr. Gregg?"
I gave her the message as I had received it. It was well, she said, and turned away from me in her restlessness. Mr. Martin came in the afternoon: and from that time he seemed to be a great deal with Selina. A day or two passed on, bringing no change: she continued very ill, and George Heneage was not found.
I had another walk to Hallam on the Friday. Philip King's funeral was to be on the Saturday, and the walk appeared to have some connexion with that event. Selina sent no note this time, but a mysterious message.
"See Mr. Gregg alone as before, Anne," were the orders she gave me. "Tell him that the funeral is fixed for eleven o'clock to-morrow morning, and he must be at hand, and watch his time. You can mention that I am now too ill to write."
"Tell him--what do you say, Selina?"
"Tell him exactly what I have told you; he will understand, though you do not. Why do you make me speak?" she added, irritably. "I send you in preference to a servant on this private business."
I discharged the commission; and, with the exception of about one minute on my return, did not see Selina again that day. It was said in the household that she was a trifle better. Mr. Edwin Barley had been as good as his word, and a third doctor attended now, a solemn old gentleman in black dress clothes and gold spectacles. It transpired, no one but Miss Delves knowing with what truth, that he agreed with his two brethren in the treatment they had pursued.
Saturday morning. The house woke up to a quiet bustle. People were going and coming, servants were moving about and preparing, all in a subdued decorous manner. The servants had been put in mourning--Mr. Edwin Barley was all in black, and Charlotte Delves rustled from room to room in rich black silk. Philip King had been related to her in a very distant degree. Mrs. Edwin Barley was no worse; better, if anything, the doctors said. From what could be gathered by us, who were not doctors, the throat was a trifle better; she herself weaker.
The funeral was late. The clocks were striking eleven as it wound down the avenue on its way to the church, an old-fashioned little structure, situate at right angles between the house and Hallam. In the first black chariot sat the clergyman, Mr. Martin; then followed the hearse; then two mourning-coaches. In the first were Mr. Edwin Barley, his brother, and two gentlemen whom I did not know--they were the mourners; in the other were the six pall-bearers. Some men walked in hatbands, and the carriages were drawn by four horses, bearing plumes.
"Is it out