There was, indeed, a locked travelling-trunk which Parnham
was to bring with him later, and the instrument might, of course, have
been in that; but I felt convinced that he had actually taken it with
him in some way or other, and this proved afterwards to have been the
case. I shall draw a veil, my dear Edward, over the events which immediately
followed your father's departure. Even at this distance of time the
memory is too inexpressibly bitter to allow me to do more than briefly
allude to them. A fortnight after John's departure, we left Royston and removed to
Worth, wishing to get some sea-air, and to enjoy the late summer of the
south coast. Your mother seemed entirely to have recovered from her
confinement, and to be enjoying as good health as could be reasonably
expected under the circumstances of her husband's indisposition. But
suddenly one of those insidious maladies which are incidental to women
in her condition seized upon her. We had hoped and believed that all
such period of danger was already happily past; but, alas! it was not
so, and within a few hours of her first seizure all realised how serious
was her case. Everything that human skill can do under such conditions
was done, but without avail. Symptoms of blood-poisoning showed
themselves, accompanied with high fever, and within a week she was in
her coffin. Though her delirium was terrible to watch, yet I thank God to this
day, that if she was to die, it pleased Him to take her while in an
unconscious condition. For two days before her death she recognised
no one, and was thus spared at least the sadness of passing from life
without one word of kindness or even of reconciliation from her unhappy
husband. The communication with a place so distant as Naples was not then to be
made under fifteen or twenty days, and all was over before we could hope
that the intelligence even of his wife's illness had reached John. Both
Mrs. Temple and I remained at Worth in a state of complete prostration,
awaiting his return. When more than a month had passed without his
arrival, or even a letter to say that he was on his way, our anxiety
took a new turn, as we feared that some accident had befallen him, or
that the news of his wife's death, which would then be in his hands,
had so seriously affected him as to render him incapable of taking any
action. To repeated subsequent communications we received no answer;
but at last, to a letter which I wrote to Parnham, the servant replied,
stating that his master was still at the Villa de Angelis, and in a
condition of health little differing from that in which he left Royston,
except that he was now slightly paler if possible and thinner. It was
not till the end of November that any word came from him, and then he
wrote only one page of a sheet of note-paper to me in pencil, making no
reference whatever to his wife's death, but saying that he should not
return for Christmas, and instructing me to draw on his bankers for any
moneys that I might require for household purposes at Worth. I need not tell you the effect that such conduct produced on Mrs.
Temple and myself; you can easily imagine what would have been your own
feelings in such a case. Nor will I relate any other circumstances which
occurred at this period, as they would have no direct bearing upon my
narrative. Though I still wrote to my brother at frequent intervals, as
not wishing to neglect a duty, no word from him ever came in reply. About the end of March, indeed, Parnham returned to Worth Maltravers,
saying that his master had paid him a half-year's wages in advance,
and then dispensed with his services. He had always been an excellent
servant, and attached to the family, and I was glad to be able to offer
him a suitable position with us at Worth until his master should return. He brought disquieting reports of John's health, saying that he was
growing visibly weaker. Though I was sorely tempted to ask him many
questions as to his master's habits and way of life, my pride forbade me
to do so. But I heard incidentally from my maid that Parnham had told
her Sir John was spending money freely in alterations at the Villa de
Angelis, and had engaged Italians to attend him, with which his English
valet was naturally much dissatisfied. So the spring passed and the summer was well advanced. On the last morning of July I found waiting for me on the
breakfast-table an envelope addressed in my brother's hand. I opened
it hastily. It only contained a few words, which I have before me as I
write now. The ink is a little faded and yellow, but the impression it
made is yet vivid as on that summer morning. "MY DEAREST SOPHY," it began,--"Come to me here at once, if possible,
  or it may be too late. I want to see you. They say that I am ill, and
  too weak to travel to England. "Your loving brother,

    "JOHN." There was a great change in the style, from the cold and conventional
notes that he had hitherto sent at such long intervals; from the stiff
"Dear Sophia" and "Sincerely yours" to which, I grieve to say, I had
grown accustomed. Even the writing itself was altered. It was more the
bold boyish hand he wrote when first he went to Oxford, than the smaller
cramped and classic character of his later years. Though it was a little
matter enough, God knows, in comparison with his grievous conduct, yet
it touched me much that he should use again the once familiar "Dearest
Sophy," and sign himself "my loving brother." I felt my heart go out
towards him; and so strong is woman's affection for her own kin, that I
had already forgotten any resentment and reprobation in my great pity
for the poor wanderer, lying sick perhaps unto death and alone in a
foreign land. I took his note at once to Mrs. Temple. She read it twice or thrice,
trying to take in the meaning of it. Then she drew me to her and,
kissing me, said, "Go to him at once, Sophy. Bring him back to Worth;
try to bring him back to the right way." I ordered my things to be packed, determining to drive to Southampton
and take train thence to London; and at the same time Mrs. Temple gave
instructions that all should be prepared for her own return to Royston
within a few days. I knew she did not dare to see John after her
daughter's death. I took my maid with me, and Parnham to act as courier. At London we
hired a carriage for the whole journey, and from Calais posted direct to
Naples. We took the short route by Marseilles and Genoa, and travelled
for seventeen days without intermission, as my brother's note made me
desirous of losing no time on the way. I had never been in Italy before;
but my anxiety was such that my mind was unable to appreciate either
the beauty of the scenery or the incidents of travel. I can, in fact,
remember nothing of our journey now, except the wearisome and
interminable jolting over bad roads and the insufferable heat. It was
the middle of August in an exceptionally warm summer, and after passing
Genoa the heat became almost tropical.