adviser she did, and as
a firm speaker; and she had homelier deep eyes, thoughtfuller brows. The
father could speculate with good hope of Jenny's child. Cecilia's wealth,
too, had gone over to the Tory party, with her incomprehensible espousal
of Tuckham. Let it go; let all go for dowerless Jenny!

It was (she dared to recollect it in her anguish) Jenny's choice to go
home in the yacht that decided her husband not to make the journey by
land in company with the Lydiards.

The voyage was favourable. Beauchamp had a passing wish to land on the
Norman coast, and take Jenny for a day to Tourdestelle. He deferred to
her desire to land baby speedily, now they were so near home. They ran
past Otley river, having sight of Mount Laurels, and on to Bevisham, with
swelling sails. There they parted. Beauchamp made it one of his 'points
of honour' to deliver the vessel where he had taken her, at her moorings
in the Otley. One of the piermen stood before Beauchamp, and saluting
him, said he had been directed to inform him that the Earl of Romfrey was
with Colonel Halkett, expecting him at Mount Laurels. Beauchamp wanted
his wife to return in the yacht. She turned her eyes to Dr. Shrapnel. It
was out of the question that the doctor should think of going. Husband
and wife parted. She saw him no more.

This is no time to tell of weeping. The dry chronicle is fittest. Hard on
nine o'clock in the December darkness, the night being still and clear,
Jenny's babe was at her breast, and her ears were awake for the return of
her husband. A man rang at the door of the house, and asked to see Dr.
Shrapnel. This man was Killick, the Radical Sam of politics. He said to
the doctor: 'I 'm going to hit you sharp, sir; I've had it myself: please
put on your hat and come out with me; and close the door. They mustn't
hear inside. And here's a fly. I knew you'd be off for the finding of the
body. Commander Beauchamp's drowned.'

Dr. Shrapnel drove round by the shore of the broad water past a great
hospital and ruined abbey to Otley village. Killick had lifted him into
the conveyance, and he lifted him out. Dr. Shrapnel had not spoken a
word. Lights were flaring on the river, illuminating the small craft
sombrely. Men, women, and children crowded the hard and landing-places,
the marshy banks and the decks of colliers and trawlers. Neither Killick
nor Dr. Shrapnel questioned them. The lights were torches and lanterns;
the occupation of the boats moving