"Send for the Parson! I must see Mr. Trevelyan. For the love of heaven, fetch him quick! For pity's sake, make haste!" were the entreaties and commands gasped out in the midst of mortal pain.
Smithson tried to speak of Mr. Trevelyan's ill-health, but he was not so much as listened to.
"For the love of heaven, be quick! I tell you he'll come! He promised he'd come! For the love of heaven, make haste!"
The labouring breath gave force to these imploring words.
"So I just come off sharp, for I didn't see what else I was to do," continued Smithson: "and I thought you'd know! If it wasn't a matter of life and death—! And Mr. Trevelyan that set on bein' good to him! The times an' agen I've seen him a-goin' there, and the way he's been treated! But anyway it wasn't for me to say 'No' to a man, and he dying."
"You don't think it would do to send for Mr. James Trevelyan? He would go at once."
"Barclay says he'll see none but the Parson, Miss! He's that bent on it! I asked him, and he shouted out 'No!' louder than I'd have thought he could. And I doubt there mightn't be time," in a lower voice. "He's awful bad. The doctor telled my missis, he might be gone any minute. Seems hard, if he can't have his dying wish, poor chap! But if Mr. Trevelyan ain't fit—"
Jean had never in her life so longed, for some one to appeal to; some one of whom to ask advice. How could she take upon herself the responsibility of calling her father?—Yet how could she take upon herself the other responsibility of not calling him? Jean's was no weak nature, loving to shirk responsibilities; but this was a terrible ordeal. It might be a matter of life and death for Mr. Trevelyan! Yet, if Barclay should die, vainly craving the promised help, because she had deliberately withheld it—what would her father say?
The echo of that passionate appeal—
"For the love of heaven, be quick!" filled the room, and entered into Jean's compassionate heart.