The eyes of Ernest gradually closed ere the hymn was ended; he lay still in deep slumbers; Charles almost trembled lest that slumber should be death.
“I have bidden farewell to Ben; I must see his brother also. Dying words have sometimes weight—he may listen to me now. Please raise me higher on my pillow, and call in Jack to see me.”
Such were the words of Ernest, on awaking one morning more free from pain than he had been since his fall.
“The interview will not be too much for you, Ernest?” said Mr. Ewart, anxiously.
“Oh, no; nothing can hurt me now. I feel as though nothing could agitate me again. Have you seen my cousin lately?” he added.
“Yes; only this morning. She feels this trial much.”
“Does she?” exclaimed Ernest, a look of animation and pleasure lighting up his deep sunken eye. “Oh, tell Clementina that she must come to me too. My heart is so full of thoughts—if I only could utter them! Would that I had the tongue of an angel, but for this one day—before I am silenced by death!”
“Lawless is at the door, as you wished,” said Charles.
“Pray, then, leave us alone together for a few minutes, and then return with Clementina, dear brother, if she is not afraid to come near a death-bed; it will be a new and a strange scene to her.”