Another day passed, and again he asked for his lawyer.
"He called," said his wife, "but you were asleep, and I would not have you disturbed."
It was false; she had not written to the lawyer.
That night the dying man knew that his minutes were numbered, and that he would not see another sunrise in this world. Speech had deserted him; he was helpless, powerless. He looked piteously at his wife, who would not admit any person into the room but herself, with the exception of her children and the doctor. She answered his look with a smile, and with false tenderness smoothed his pillow. The following morning the doctor called again, and as he stood by the patient's bedside observed him making some feeble signs which he could not understand. Appealing to Mrs. Fox-Cordery, she interpreted the signs to him.
"He wishes to know the worse," she said.
The doctor beckoned her out of the room, and told her she must prepare for it.
"Soon?" she inquired, with her handkerchief to her dry eyes.
"Before midnight," he said gravely, and left her to her grief.
She did not deprive her husband of his last sad comfort; she brought their daughter to him, and placed her by his side. Mrs. Fox-Cordery remained in the room, watching the clock. "Before midnight, before midnight," she whispered to herself a score of times.
The prince of the house, soon to be king, came to wish his father farewell. There was not speck or spot upon the young man, who had been from home all day, and had just returned. During this fatal illness he had been very little with his father.