All had been done that could be done. Mrs. Barnet was in her own houseunder medical hands, but the result was still uncertain. Barnet hadacted as if devotion to his wife were the dominant passion of hisexistence. There had been much to decide--whether to attempt restorationof the apparently lifeless body as it lay on the shore--whether to carryher to the Harbour Inn--whether to drive with her at once to his ownhouse. The first course, with no skilled help or appliances near athand, had seemed hopeless. The second course would have occupied nearlyas much time as a drive to the town, owing to the intervening ridges ofshingle, and the necessity of crossing the harbour by boat to get to thehouse, added to which much time must have elapsed before a doctor couldhave arrived down there. By bringing her home in the carriage someprecious moments had slipped by; but she had been laid in her own bed inseven minutes, a doctor called to her side, and every possiblerestorative brought to bear upon her.

At what a tearing pace he had driven up that road, through the yellowevening sunlight, the shadows flapping irksomely into his eyes as eachwayside object rushed past between him and the west! Tired workmen withtheir baskets at their backs had turned on their homeward journey towonder at his speed. Halfway between the shore and Port-Bredy town hehad met Charlson, who had been the first surgeon to hear of the accident.He was accompanied by his assistant in a gig. Barnet had sent on thelatter to the coast in case that Downe's poor wife should by that timehave been reclaimed from the waves, and had brought Charlson back withhim to the house.

Barnet's presence was not needed here, and he felt it to be his next dutyto set off at once and find Downe, that no other than himself might breakthe news to him.

He was quite sure that no chance had been lost for Mrs. Downe by hisleaving the shore. By the time that Mrs. Barnet had been laid in thecarriage, a much larger group had assembled to lend assistance in findingher friend, rendering his own help superfluous. But the duty of breakingthe news was made doubly painful by the circumstance that the catastrophewhich had befallen Mrs. Downe was solely the result of her own and herhusband's loving-kindness towards himself.

He found Downe in his office. When the solicitor comprehended theintelligence he turned pale, stood up, and remained for a momentperfectly still, as if bereft of his faculties; then his shouldersheaved, he pulled out his handkerchief and began to cry like a child. Hissobs might have been heard in the next room. He seemed to have no ideaof going to the shore, or of doing anything; but when Barnet took himgently by the hand and proposed to start at once, he quietly acquiesced,neither uttering any further word nor making any effort to repress histears.

Barnet accompanied him to the shore, where, finding that no trace had asyet been seen of Mrs. Downe, and that his stay would be of no avail, heleft Downe with his friends and the young doctor, and once more hastenedback to his own house.

At the door he met Charlson. 'Well!' Barnet said.

'I have just come down,' said the doctor; 'we have done everything, butwithout result. I sympathize with you in your bereavement.'

Barnet did not much appreciate Charlson's sympathy, which sounded to hisears as something of a mockery from the lips of a man who knew whatCharlson knew about their domestic relations. Indeed there seemed an oddspark in Charlson's full black eye as he said the words; but that mighthave been imaginary.

'And, Mr. Barnet,' Charlson resumed, 'that little matter between us--Ihope to settle it finally in three weeks at least.'

'Never mind that now,' said Barnet abruptly. He directed the surgeon togo to the harbour in case his services might even now be necessary there:and himself entered the house.

The servants were coming from his wife's chamber, looking helplessly ateach other and at him. He passed them by and entered the room, where hestood mutely regarding the bed for a few minutes, after which he walkedinto his own dressing-room adjoining, and there paced up and down. In aminute or two he noticed what a strange and total silence had come overthe upper part of the house; his own movements, muffled as they were bythe carpet, seemed noisy, and his thoughts to disturb the air likearticulate utterances. His eye glanced through the window. Far down theroad to the harbour a roof detained his gaze: out of it rose a redchimney, and out of the red chimney a curl of smoke, as from a fire newlykindled. He had often seen such a sight before. In that house livedLucy Savile; and the smoke was from the fire which was regularly lightedat this time to make her tea.

After that he went back to the bedroom, and stood there some timeregarding his wife's silent form. She was a woman some years older thanhimself, but had not by any means overpassed the maturity of good looksand vigour. Her passionate features, well-defined, firm, and statuesquein life, were doubly so now: her mouth and brow, beneath her purplishblack hair, showed only too clearly that the turbulency of characterwhich had made a bear-garden of his house had been no temporary phase ofher existence. While he reflected, he suddenly said to himself, I wonderif all has been done?

The thought was led up to by his having fancied that his wife's featureslacked in its complete form the expression which he had been accustomedto associate with the faces of those whose spirits have fled for ever.The effacement of life was not so marked but that, entering uninformed,he might have supposed her sleeping. Her complexion was that seen in thenumerous faded portraits by Sir Joshua Reynolds; it was pallid incomparison with life, but there was visible on a close inspection theremnant of what had once been a flush; the keeping between the cheeks andthe hollows of the face being thus preserved, although positive colourwas gone. Long orange rays of evening sun stole in through chinks in theblind, striking on the large mirror, and being thence reflected upon thecrimson hangings and woodwork of the heavy bedstead, so that the generaltone of light was remarkably warm; and it was probable that somethingmight be due to this circumstance. Still the fact impressed him asstrange. Charlson had been gone more than a quarter of an hour: could itbe possible that he had left too soon, and that his attempts to restoreher had operated so sluggishly as only now to have made themselves felt?Barnet laid his hand upon her chest, and fancied that ever and anon afaint flutter of palpitation, gentle as that of a butterfly's wing,disturbed the stillness there--ceasing for a time, then struggling to goon, then breaking down in weakness and ceasing again.

Barnet's mother had been an active practitioner of the healing art amongher poorer neighbours, and her inspirations had all been derived from anoctavo volume of Domestic Medicine, which at this moment was lying, as ithad lain for many years, on a shelf in Barnet's dressing-room. Hehastily fetched it, and there read under the head 'Drowning:'-

'Exertions for the recovery of any person who has not been immersed for a longer period than half-an-hour should be continued for at least four hours, as there have been many cases in which returning life has made itself visible even after a longer interval.

'Should, however, a weak action of any of the organs show itself when the case seems almost hopeless, our efforts must be redoubled; the feeble spark in this case requires to be solicited; it will certainly disappear under a relaxation of labour.'

Barnet looked at his watch; it was now barely two hours and a half fromthe time when he had first heard of the accident. He threw aside thebook and turned quickly to reach a stimulant which had previously beenused. Pulling up the blind for more light, his eye glanced out of thewindow. There he saw that red chimney still smoking cheerily, and thatroof, and through the roof that somebody. His mechanical movementsstopped, his hand remained on the blind-cord, and he seemed to becomebreathless, as if he had suddenly found himself treading a high rope.

While he stood a sparrow lighted on the windowsill, saw him, and flewaway. Next a man and a dog walked over one of the green hills whichbulged above the roofs of the town. But Barnet took no notice.

We may wonder what were the exact images that passed through his mindduring those minutes of gazing upon Lucy Savile's house, the sparrow, theman and the dog, and Lucy Savile's house again. There are honest men whowill not admit to their thoughts, even as idle hypotheses, views of thefuture that assume as done a deed which they would recoil from doing; andthere are other honest men for whom morality ends at the surface of theirown heads, who will deliberate what the first will not so much assuppose. Barnet had a wife whose pretence distracted his home; she nowlay as in death; by merely doing nothing--by letting the intelligencewhich had gone forth to the world lie undisturbed--he would effect such adeliverance for himself as he had never hoped for, and open up anopportunity of which till now he had never dreamed. Whether theconjuncture had arisen through any unscrupulous, ill-considered impulseof Charlson to help out of a strait the friend who was so kind as neverto press him for what was due could not be told; there was nothing toprove it; and it was a question which could never be asked. Thetriangular situation--himself--his wife--Lucy Savile--was the one clearthing.

From Barnet's actions we may infer that he supposed such and such aresult, for a moment, but did not deliberate. He withdrew his hazel eyesfrom the scene without, calmly turned, rang the bell for assistance, andvigorously exerted himself to learn if life still lingered in thatmotionless frame. In a short time another surgeon was in attendance; andthen Barnet's surmise proved to be true. The slow life timidly heavedagain; but much care and patience were needed to catch and retain it, anda considerable period elapsed before it could be said with certainty thatMrs. Barnet lived. When this was the case, and there was no further roomfor doubt, Barnet left the chamber. The blue evening smoke from Lucy'schimney had died down to an imperceptible stream, and as he walked aboutdownstairs he murmured to himself, 'My wife was dead, and she is aliveagain.'

It was not so with Downe. After three hours' immersion his wife's bodyhad been recovered, life, of course, being quite extinct. Barnet ondescending, went straight to his friend's house, and there learned theresult. Downe was helpless in his wild grief, occasionally evenhysterical. Barnet said little, but finding that some guiding hand wasnecessary in the sorrow-stricken household, took upon him to superviseand manage till Downe should be in a state of mind to do so for himself.