The sick man obeyed. One of the physicians approached Lumley, and beckoned him aside.
“Shall we send for his lordship’s lawyer?” whispered the leech.
“I am his heir-at-law,” thought Lumley. “Why, no, my dear sir—no, I think not, unless he expresses a desire to see him; doubtless my poor uncle has already settled his worldly affairs. What is his state?”
The doctor shook his head. “I will speak to you, sir, after you have left his lordship.”
“What is the matter there?” cried the patient, sharply and querulously. “Clear the room—I would be alone with my nephew.”
The doctors disappeared; the old women reluctantly followed; when, suddenly, the little Evelyn sprang forward and threw herself on the breast of the dying man, sobbing as if her heart would break.
“My poor child!—my sweet child—my own, own darling!” gasped out Lord Vargrave, folding his weak arms round her; “bless you—bless you! and God will bless you. My wife,” he added, with a voice far more tender than Lumley had ever before heard him address to Lady Vargrave, “if these be the last words I utter to you, let them express all the gratitude I feel for you, for duties never more piously discharged: you did not love me, it is true; and in health and pride that knowledge often made me unjust to you. I have been severe—you have had much to bear—forgive me.”
“Oh! do not talk thus; you have been nobler, kinder than my deserts. How much I owe you—how little I have done in return!”
“I cannot bear this; leave me, my dear, leave me. I may live yet—I hope I may—I do not want to die. The cup may pass from me. Go—go—and you, my child.”
“Ah, let me stay.”