"I know this," cried Baby, kneeling down and gathering the cowering form to her strong embrace; "that you are ill, that you don't know what you're saying. But God is mercy," sobbed Aspasia, very reverently—she was shy of her religion, and spoke low, even amid her tears; "I know that God is mercy, and that those who are with Him must be merciful too."
"Do you cry for me?" said Lady Gerardine, a sort of wonder in her weary tones, as the wet cheeks were pressed against her face. "I cannot cry for myself. I am beyond tears."
With this, she suffered herself to be helped to rise, and made a feeble movement towards the bed. But at the sound of a closing door beneath, of steps on the stairs, she started violently and clutched the girl's arm.
"You will not let anybody in.... Nobody must come into my room—Aspasia—Aspasia!"
"No, no! The door is locked. Darling, don't be so frightened; how your teeth chatter! Aunt, I promise you shall be left in peace. I will watch. Can't you trust me? They'd better not!" she added convincingly, if vaguely.
The long convulsive shudders continued even after Baby had coaxed her to bed, and piled the bedclothes over her. She sat a long while by the sick woman, still rubbing the bloodless fingers, speaking soothingly from time to time. But Rosamond herself spoke no more.
At last silence fell upon the Old Ancient House. Steps ceased to resound along the echoing oak. Doors were definitely closed; even Lady Aspasia's pervading voice seemed to be hushed for the night. Then Lady Gerardine suddenly turned to her niece with something of her old gentle look:
"Go to bed, my child," she said. "Sleep, at least while you can. Your little face looks tired!"
"I'll sleep here with you, if you'll have me," said Aspasia, kissing the hand she held.
"No, no," said the other. "I must be alone. I shall have Jani, she will watch. Good night."