‘Good old Cæsar! You were his best friend, Paul.—Well, Mrs. King, this is a blessing!’
Mrs. King looked sadly worn out with nursing, and her eyes were full of tears.
‘Yes, Sir,’ she said, ‘indeed it is. My poor darling has been so much afraid he was too much set on your coming home, and yet so patient and quiet about it.’
‘Then you ventured to wait?’
And Mr. Cope heard that the attack of inflammation had given way to remedies, but that Alfred was so much weakened, that they could not raise him again. He was sustained by as much nourishment as they could give him: but the disease had made great progress, and Mr. Blunt did not think that he could last many days. His eldest sister had come for a fortnight from her place, and was a great comfort to them all. ‘And so is Paul,’ said Mrs. King, looking for him kindly; ‘I don’t know what we should do without his help up-stairs and down. And, Sir, yesterday,’ she added, colouring a good deal—‘I beg your pardon, but I thought, maybe, you’d like to hear it—Alfred would have nobody else up with him in morning church-time—and made him read the most—of that Service, Sir.’
Mr. Cope’s eyes glistened, and he said something huskily of being glad that Alfred could think of it.
It further appeared that Alfred had wished very much to see Miss Selby again, and that Mrs. King had sent the two sisters to the Grange to talk it over with Mrs. Crabbe, and word had been sent by Harold that morning that the young lady would come in the course of the afternoon.
Mr. Cope followed Mrs. King up-stairs; Alfred’s face lighted up as his sister Matilda made way for the clergyman. He was very white, and his breath was oppressed; but his look had changed very much—it had a strange, still sort of brightness and peace about it. He spoke in very low tones, just above a whisper, and smiled as Mr. Cope took his hand, and spoke to him.
‘Thank you, Sir. It is very nice,’ he said.
‘I thank God that He has let you wait for me,’ said Mr. Cope.