The two youngest sons, Francis and Charles, stood on the other side
of a gap made by the loss of two infants, and were only twenty-one
and nineteen. Frank had passed through Oxford with credit, and had
been promised a Government office; while Charles was intended for
the army; and both had been reading with a tutor who lived at
Willansborough, and was continually employed in cramming, being
reported of as the best 'coach' in the country. Charlie, however,
had passed a week previously, and was to repair to Sandhurst in
another fortnight.
At half-past four there was a light tap at Mrs. Poynsett's door, and
Charlie announced, "Here's the first, mother!" as he brought in a
gray-cloaked figure; and Mrs. Poynsett took a trembling hand, and
bestowed a kiss on a cheek which had languor and exhaustion in the
very touch.
"She was tired to death, mother," said Charlie, "so we did not wait
for the train."
"Quite right!" and as the newcomer sank into the chair he offered--
"My dear, you are sadly knocked up! You were hardly fit to come."
"Thank you, I am quite well," answered the fagged timid voice.
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