On Thursday morning, Henrietta began to awake from her sound night’s rest. Was it a dream that she saw a head between her and the window? She thought it was, and turned to sleep again; but at her movement the head turned, the figure advanced, and Mrs. Geoffrey Langford stood over her.
Henrietta opened her eyes, and gazed upon her without saying a word for some moments; then, as her senses awakened, she half sprung up. “How is mamma? Does she want me? Why?” Her aunt made an effort to speak, but it seemed beyond her power.
“O, aunt, aunt!” cried she, “what is the matter? What has happened? Speak to me!”
“Henrietta,” said her aunt, in a low, calm, but hoarse tone, “she bade you bear up for your brother’s sake.”
“But—but—” said Henrietta, breathlessly; “and she—”
“My dear child, she is at rest.”
Henrietta laid her head back, as if completely stunned, and unable to realise what she had heard.
“Tell me,” she said, after a few moments.
Her aunt knelt by her and steadily, without a tear, began to speak. “It was at half-past twelve; she had been asleep some little time very quietly. I was just going to lie down on the sofa, when I thought her face looked different, and stood watching. She woke, said she felt oppressed, and asked me to raise her pillows. While she was leaning against my arm, there was a spasm, a shiver, and she was gone! Yes, we must only think of her as in perfect peace!”
Henrietta lay motionless for some moments, then at last broke out with a sort of anger, “O, why did you not call me?”