“Then I must protest; and I beg you to remember that I have protested against this resolve on your part. Your family are not to say, hereafter, that it was through any interference or influence of ours that you took this unhappy determination. I’ll write, this very day, to your father and say so. There, it is striking seven now!”
He made no reply; indeed, it seemed as if he had not heard her.
“You might still be in time, if you were to exert yourself.” whispered she, with more earnestness.
“I tell you again,” said he, raising his voice to a louder pitch, “that my place is here, and I will not leave her.”
A low, faint sigh was breathed by the sick girl, and gently moving her hand, she laid it on his head.
“You know me then, dearest?” whispered he. “You know who it is kneels beside you?”
She made no answer, but her feeble fingers tried to play with his hair, and strayed, unguided, over his head.
What shape of reproach, remonstrance, or protest, Miss Grainger’s mutterings took, is not recorded; but she bustled out of the room, evidently displeased with all in it.
“She knows you, Joseph. She is trying to thank you,” said Emily.
“Her lips are moving: can you hear what she says, Milly?”