For a fortnight after this there was an unhappy household at Surbiton Cottage. Linda's marriage was put off till the period of Alaric's sentence should be over, and till something should be settled as to his and Gertrude's future career. It was now August, and they spoke of the event as one which perhaps might occur in the course of the following spring. At this time, also, they were deprived for a while of the comfort of Norman's visits by his enforced absence at Normansgrove. Harry's eldest brother was again ill, and at last the news of his death was received at Hampton. Under other circumstances such tidings as those might, to a certain extent, have brought their own consolation with them. Harry would now be Mr. Norman of Normansgrove, and Linda would become Mrs. Norman of Normansgrove; Harry's mother had long been dead, and his father was an infirm old man, who would be too glad to give up to his son the full management of the estate, now that the eldest son was a man to whom that estate could be trusted. All those circumstances had, of course, been talked over between Harry and Linda, and it was understood that Harry was now to resign his situation at the Weights and Measures. But Alaric's condition, Gertrude's misery, and Katie's illness, threw all such matters into the background. Katie became no better; but then the doctors said that she did not become any worse, and gave it as their opinion that she ought to recover. She had youth, they said, on her side; and then her lungs were not affected. This was the great question which they were all asking of each other continually. The poor girl lived beneath a stethoscope, and bore all their pokings and tappings with exquisite patience. She herself believed that she was dying, and so she repeatedly told her mother. Mrs. Woodward could only say that all was in God's hands, but that the physicians still encouraged them to hope the best.
One day Mrs. Woodward was sitting with a book in her usual place at the side of Katie's bed; she looked every now and again at her patient, and thought that she was slumbering; and at last she rose from her chair to creep away, so sure was she that she might be spared for a moment. But just as she was silently rising, a thin, slight, pale hand crept out from beneath the clothes, and laid itself on her arm.
'I thought you were asleep, love,' said she.
'No, mamma, I was not asleep. I was thinking of something. Don't go away, mamma, just now. I want to ask you something.'
Mrs. Woodward again sat down, and taking her daughter's hand in her own, caressed it.
'I want to ask a favour of you, mamma,' said Katie.
'A favour, my darling! what is it? you know I will do anything in my power that you ask me.'
'Ah, mamma, I do not know whether you will do this.'
'What is it, Katie? I will do anything that is for your good. I am sure you know that, Katie.'
'Mamma, I know I am going to die. Oh, mamma, don't say anything now, don't cry now—dear, dear mamma; I don't say it to make you unhappy; but you know when I am so ill I ought to think about it, ought I not, mamma?'