“Your aunt would let us know if there was anything to hear. Pray take care, my dear.”
“I must go, I can’t bear it any longer; I will only just listen,” said Henrietta; “I will not be a moment.”
“Let me have the book, my dear,” said her mother, who knew but too well the length of Henrietta’s moments, and who had just, by means of a great effort, succeeded in making herself take interest in the book.
Henrietta gave it to her, and darted off. The door of Fred’s room was ajar, and she entered. Aunt Geoffrey, Bennet, and Judith were standing round the bed, her aunt sponging away the blood that was flowing from Frederick’s temples. His eyes were closed, and he now and then gave long gasping sighs of oppression and faintness. “Leeches!” thought Henrietta, as she started with consternation and displeasure. “This is pretty strong! Without telling me or mamma! Well, this is what I call doing something with him indeed.”
She advanced to the table, but no one saw her for more than a minute, till at last Aunt Geoffrey stepped quickly up to it in search of some bottle.
“Let me do something,” said Henrietta, catching up the bottle that she thought likely to be the right one.
Her aunt looked vexed, and answered in a low quick tone, “You had better stay with your mamma.”
“But why are you doing this? Is he worse? Is Mr. Philip Carey here? Has he ordered it?”
“He is not come yet. My dear, I cannot talk to you: I should be much obliged if you would go back to your mamma.”
Aunt Geoffrey went back to Fred, but a few minutes after she looked up and still saw Henrietta standing by the table. She came up to her, “Henrietta, you are of no use here; every additional person oppresses him; your mamma must be kept tranquil. Why will you stay?”