They went up-stairs together.
The doctor had gone. The nurse told her Lord Burdon was asleep; but when she went to her former position on her knees beside the bed and took his hand again, he opened his eyes and his eyes smiled at her; and then closed; he seemed desperately weary.
She did not cry now. There was this bargain to be forced on death; and, as with the letter, so now with her promises, she was in a panic to get them done, believing that if death—God, as she named it—might know all she offered to pay, he must accept the price and hold his hand.
She was not the first that has believed death—or heaven—is open to a deal.
Through the long evening she knelt there, Rollo with her. Thus and thus she promised—thus and thus would she do—thus and thus—thus and thus! Mostly she bargained, frantically reiterating. At intervals she would turn to protest—protesting that her sin was very light for so heavy a threat. What had she done? She had done no wrong. She had no flagrant faults—she was serenely good, as goodness is judged. She was devout—she was charitable. Only one little failing, heaven! She had desired to enjoy herself, and enjoying herself had neglected him. But he did not care for the things she liked. Indeed he did not! He was happiest when she was happy. Indeed he was! Yet she saw the error of her way. If he might be spared, heaven—thus and thus—thus and thus—thus and thus!
Physical weariness overcame her as she heaped her promises, leading her mind astray and tricking it into nightmare dreams whence she would struggle with trembling limbs. The dreams took gross or strange forms. She would be running down the street pursued by the tumbler contents-bill, somersaulting behind. It caught her and fell flat, flinging out its armlike corners, and she saw it was Maurice. She stooped to him, and it was the bill again, gone from her on the wind. She pursued it, and saw it take semblance of Maurice, and pursued it with stumbling feet and could not catch it.
She struggled from these horrors and found her mind again. She was intensely cold, she found. Sir Mervyn had come and was bending over her husband. Sir Mervyn nodded to her and sat down by the bed. She dared ask no questions. She crouched lower where she knelt. The night went on—Sir Mervyn still there. She prayed on—thus and thus! thus and thus! She was tricked into the nightmare dreams. She was with Rollo's friend, Percival, and running to Rollo, who seemed in distress. A woman stopped them. She recognised in her the girl who had come with that claim to be Lady Burdon years before. The girl caught Percival and held him and Percival held her. She struggled to be free, for Rollo was calling her wildly. His cries grew louder, louder, louder, and burst as a real cry suddenly upon her.
"Mother! Mother!"
She started up. Rollo was on his feet, bending towards his father.
"Lift! Lift!" Lord Burdon murmured.