“Dear friend, God can always find instruments. The good work will be done, though not by me.”
So then Susan judged, by these few words, and the tear that trickled from his closed eyes, that he saw what others saw and did not look to live now.
She left the room in haste not to agitate him by the sorrow she could no longer restrain or conceal. The patient lay quiet, languidly dozing.
Now about four o'clock in the afternoon the surgeon came to the door; but what surprised Susan was that a man accompanied him whom she only just knew by sight, and who had never been there before—the turnkey Hodges. The pair spoke together in a low tone, and Susan, who was looking down from an upper window, could not hear what they said; but the discussion lasted a minute or two before they rang the bell. Susan came down herself and admitted them: but as she was leading the way upstairs her aunt suddenly bounced out of the parlor looking unaccountably red, and said:
“I will go up with them, Susan.”
Susan said, “If you like, aunt,” but felt some little surprise at Mrs. Davies's brisk manner.
At the sick man's door Mrs. Davies paused, and said dryly, with a look at Hodges, “Who shall I say is come with you?”
“Mr. Hodges, one of the warders, is come to inquire after his reverence's health,” replied the surgeon smoothly.
“I must ask him first whether he will receive a stranger.”
“Admit him,” was Mr. Eden's answer. The men entered the room, and were welcomed with a kind but feeble smile from the sick man.