t brief service in the church, where
Herbert and he daily met and found their strength for the day. They
had not had time to exchange a word after it before there was a
knock at the vestry door, and a servant gave the message to Herbert,
who had opened it: "Lady Tyrrell is taken worse, sir, and Sir Harry
Vivian begged that Mr. Charnock would come immediately."

A carriage had been sent for him, and he could only hurry home to
tell Rosamond to send on the pony to Sirenwood, to take him to
Wil'sbro', unless he were first wanted at home. She undertook to go
up to the Hall and give Anne a little rest, and he threw himself
into the carriage, not daring to dwell on the pain it gave him to go
from his brother's death bed to confront Camilla.

At the door Eleonora came to meet him. "Thank you," she said. "We
knew it was no time to disturb you."

"I can be better spared _now_," answered Julius.

"You don't mean," she said, with a strange look, which was not quite
surprise.

"Yes, my dear brother left us at about three o'clock last night. A
change came on at twelve."

"Twelve!" Eleonora laid her hand on his arm, and spoke in a quick
agitated manner. "Camilla was much better till last night, when at
twelve I heard such a scream that I ran into her room. She was
sitting up with her eyes fixed open, like a clairvoyante, and her
voice seemed pleading--pleading with _him_, as if for pardon, and
she held out her hands and called him. Then, suddenly, she gave a
terrible shriek, and fell back in a kind of fit. Mr. M'Vie can do
nothing, and though she is conscious now, she does nothing but ask
for you and say that he does not want you now."

Julius grew paler, as he said very low, "Anne said he seemed to be
seeing and answering _her_. Not like delirium, but as if she were
really there."

"Don't tell any one," entreated Eleonora, in a breathless whisper,
and he signed consent, as both felt how those two spirits must have
been entwined, since these long years had never broken that subtle
link of sympathy which had once bound them.

Sir Harry's face, dreary, sunken, and terrified, was thrust over the
balusters, as he called, "Don't hinder him, Lena, she asks for him
every moment;" and as they came on, he caught Julius's hand, saying,
"Soothe her, soothe her--'tis the only chance. If she could but
sleep!"

There lay Camilla Tyrrell, beautiful still, but more than ever like
the weird tragic head with snake-wreathed b