“There was not one instant, my dear, and I could not ring, for fear of disturbing Fred. I could not call any one till it was too late.”
“O, why was I not there? I would—I would—she must have heard me. I would not have let her go. O, mamma!” cried Henrietta, almost unconscious of what she said, and bursting into a transport of ungovernable grief; sobbing violently and uttering wild incoherent exclamations. Her aunt tried in vain to soothe her by kind words, but all she said seemed only to add impulse to the torrent; and at last she found herself obliged to wait till the violence of the passion had in some degree exhausted itself; and young, strong, and undisciplined as poor Henrietta was, this was not quickly. At last, however, the sobs grew less loud, and the exclamations less vehement. Aunt Geoffrey thought she could be heard, leant down over her, kissed her, and said, “Now we must pray that we may fulfil her last desire; bear it patiently, and try to help your brother.”
“Fred, O poor Fred!” and she seemed on the point of another burst of lamentation, but her aunt went on speaking—“I must go to him; he has yet to hear it, and you had better come to him as soon as you are dressed.”
“O aunt; I could not bear to see him. It will kill him, I know it will! O no, no, I cannot, cannot see Fred! O, mamma, mamma!” A fresh fit of weeping succeeded, and Mrs. Langford herself feeling most deeply, was in great doubt and perplexity; she did not like to leave Henrietta in this condition, and yet there was an absolute necessity that she should go to poor Fred, before any chance accident or mischance should reveal the truth.
“I must leave you, my dear,” said she, at last. “Think how your dear mother bowed her head to His will. Pray to your Father in Heaven, Who alone can comfort you. I must go to your brother, and when I return, I hope you will be more composed.”
The pain of witnessing the passionate sorrow of Henrietta was no good preparation for carrying the same tidings to one, whose bodily weakness made it to be feared that he might suffer even more; but Mrs. Geoffrey Langford feared to lose her composure by stopping to reflect, and hastened down from Henrietta’s room with a hurried step.
She knocked at Fred’s door, and was answered by his voice. As she entered he looked at her with anxious eyes, and before she could speak, said, “I know what you are come to tell me.”
“Yes, Fred,” said she; “but how?”
“I was sure of it,” said Fred. “I knew I should never see her again; and there were sounds this morning. Did not I hear poor Henrietta crying?”
“She has been crying very much,” said his aunt.