'The turnkey's wife was evidently not given to looking on the bright side of things, but she seemed kind-hearted, in her way, notwithstanding; and she left the room, promising to do what she could about a doctor directly the governor was forthcoming.
'For some moments Henrietta and I could only stand looking at one another in mute dismay. It gave one such a miserable, helpless feeling to hear the dreadful fever was already with us—that Bessie was dangerously ill, and that we were absolutely powerless to help her. Neither of us knew what ought to be done. Doctors, medicine, proper food, none were to be had. Even the simplest comforts, that she had never before been without, were now hopelessly out of our reach. We could do nothing but make up the straw bed as well as we could with some of the contents of our baggage, which we had found in a tolerable state of preservation, lying in a corner of our new room. Strange to say, nothing was missing but the looking-glass. The poor girl had kept her word when she promised to do her best to take care of our goods. So we made up a pillow for Bessie, and threw over her everything in the way of covering that we could find, and then sat down, with heavy hearts, to watch by her side. She had sunk back into a perfectly unconscious state, looking as deadly white as she had been before she was aroused from her long swoon.
'"Oh, if Mrs. Fortescue were but here!" cried Henrietta, wringing her hands in despair. "If there was anything that we could do for her! But there is nothing—nothing at all—only to sit still helplessly, while she is perhaps dying under our very eyes. Frances, it is too horrible!" and for the first time since I had known her, I saw Henrietta cry.
'I had never before heard her speak so strongly and passionately—never imagined how intense her feelings were; and now the bitter grief in her voice, and the violent, uncontrolled way in which she wept, quite frightened me. I could only lean my head against her shoulder, and cry too; and in this disconsolate way we sat till the turnkey appeared with dinner. He brought us a message from his wife, to the effect that the governor would not return until late in the evening; but that she would come again herself, and bring a drink for the sick lady. Once more Henrietta entreated that a doctor might be brought, but once more in vain. Even when she offered every gold piece that her purse contained, the turnkey was obstinate still.
'"Not without the governor's authority," he persisted. "These were times when one must do nought rashly, if one meant one's head to stay on one's shoulders."
'Well, the hours went on dismally and wearily. Poor Bessie woke from her lethargy after a while, but in a state that shocked and frightened us more than ever. She tossed incessantly from side to side, with burning cheeks and parched lips—her blue eyes wide open, and brilliant with fever. Oh! what misery it was to sit and listen to her as she lay talking wildly and incoherently on all sorts of subjects—sometimes about Madame St. Aubert, and Pauline, and her old school occupations; at others, raving violently about Colonel Dare and the Duke of Monmouth. Then she would fancy herself again at the bar pleading before Judge Jeffreys, and implore piteously for mercy on her uncle. But, oh! the worst of all was when she started up and clung to Henrietta, screaming in an agony of fear that Judge Jeffreys was going to send her to the scaffold. The turnkey's wife came again in the afternoon with the promised draught; and whether it was the effect of that, or that she was at last thoroughly exhausted, I do not know, but she suddenly became quieter, and at length sank once more into a state of stupor. Thus the day wore on, and at last night came, and the turnkey's wife looked in to pay us a farewell visit, bringing another draught for Bessie, and a candle. She looked at the motionless figure on the mattress, with sincere pity in her face, and then shook her head despondingly.
'"You do not think her better?" asked Henrietta with a quivering voice.
'"She'll not be here in the morning," the woman answered gravely, after a moment's hesitation. "I wish I could stay with you to-night, mistress; but I've a sick babe to nurse myself." And with another wistful, compassionate glance towards the mattress, she bade us good night and closed the door.
'The next minute the silence that followed was broken by Bessie herself.
'"Henrietta, what time is it?"