Mr. Kendal, to his great joy, met Frederick Ferrars at the ’Family Office.’  The changes in the regiment had given him his majority, and he had flashed over from Ireland to make his preparations for the campaign.  His counsel had been most valuable in Gilbert’s equipment, especially in the knotty question of horses, and he had shown himself so amiable and rational that Mr. Kendal was quite delighted, and rejoiced in committing Gilbert to his care.  He had assumed the trust in a paternal manner, and, infected by his brilliant happiness and hopefulness, Gilbert had gone off to Ireland in excellent spirits.

‘Another thing conduced to cheer him,’ said Mr. Kendal afterwards to his wife, with a tone that caused her to exclaim, ’You don’t mean that he saw Genevieve?’

’You are right.  We came upon her in Rivington’s shop, while we were looking for the smallest Bible.  I saw who it was chiefly by his change of colour, and I confess I kept out of the way.  The whole did not last five minutes; she had her pupils with her, and soon went away; but he thanked me, and took heart from that moment.  Poor boy, who would have thought the impression would have been so lasting?’

’Well, by the time he is a field-officer, even William will let him please himself,’ said Albinia, lightly, because her heart was too full for her to speak seriously.

She tried, by a kind letter, to atone for the omitted farewell, and it seemed to cheer and delight Gilbert.  He wrote from Cork as if he had imbibed fresh hope and enterprise from his new companions, he liked them all, and could not say enough of the kindness of Major Ferrars.  Everything went smoothly, and in the happiest frame he sailed from Cork, and was heard of again at Malta and Gallipoli, direfully sea-sick, but reviving to write most amusing long descriptive letters, and when he reached the camp at Yarna, he reported as gratefully of General Ferrars as the General did kindly of him.

Those letters were the chief pleasures in a harassing spring and summer.  It was well that practice had trained Sophia in the qualities of a nurse, for Lucy was seldom available when Algernon Dusautoy was at home; she was sure to be riding with him, or sitting for her picture, or the good Vicar, afraid of her overworking herself, insisted on her spending the evening at the vicarage.

She yielded, but not with an easy conscience, to judge by her numerous apologies, and when Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy returned to Oxford, she devoted herself with great assiduity to the invalid.  Her natural gifts were far more efficient than Sophy’s laboriously-earned gentleness, and her wonderful talent for prattling about nothing had a revivifying influence, sparing much of the plaintive weariness which accompanied that mournful descent of life’s hill.