But as soon as he had recovered from his temporary emotion, he went to his father's side, who had seated himself on a chair behind the curtain of the bed, and tried to comfort him. The presence of his second son was in itself a consolation to poor Mr Prothero; but he could not listen to his words.
'Pray for your mother, Rowland,' was all he could say.
Rowland knelt down with all those present, except Gladys, who joined in spirit and prayed. Never before had he known what it was to use the prayers of his church for one so dear to him; never before had he felt the great difficulty of reading them when his emotion nearly choked his utterance. But as priest and son he prayed fervently for his mother.
Mr Prothero seemed calmer after he rose from his knees, and ventured to lean over his wife to assure himself that she still breathed. There was an occasional slight pulsation scarcely to be called breath.
The doctor came in and felt her pulse. It was not quite gone, and whilst there was life there was hope.
They stood round her bed watching the calm, pale face with a love and anxiety so intense that they could neither speak nor breathe. Gladys looked almost as pale as her mistress, and as the light fell upon her when she was leaning over her, she might have been the angel of death herself.
Mrs Jonathan Prothero drew Rowland from the room and insisted upon his taking some refreshment. He had travelled all night, and Mr Gwynne, at his daughter's request, had sent his carriage to meet him.
Miss Gwynne and Miss Hall were still waiting downstairs. They asked Mrs Jonathan if they could be of any use in taking Gladys's place whilst the poor girl got some rest; Mrs Jonathan said it was useless to urge her to leave her mistress for a moment.
Rowland thanked Miss Gwynne for her kindness, and she said she would do anything in the world for Mrs Prothero.
She and Miss Hall went away in the carriage that brought Rowland, promising to return again in the afternoon.