‘Ah, then there was not all that suffering, and without me! Thankworthy— Oh no, no, please’—as Lady Adela, with eyes brimming over, would have pressed her to her bosom—‘don’t—don’t upset me, or I could not attend to Frank. It all turns on this one day, they say, and I must—I must be as usual. There will be time enough to know all about it—if’—with a long oppressed gasp—‘he is saved from the hearing it.’
‘I think you are right, dear,’ said Adela, ‘if you keep him—’ but she could not go on.
‘Well, any way,’ said Mary, ‘either he will be given back, or he will be saved this. Let me go back to him, please.’ Then at the door, putting her hand to her head—‘Who is here?’
‘Poor Eden.’
‘Ah, let her and Emma know that I am sure it is not their fault. Come again to-morrow, please; I think he will be better.’
She went away in that same gliding manner, perfectly tearless. Adela waited to see the doctor, who assured her that the patient had rather gained than lost during the last twenty-four hours, and that if he could be spared from any shock or
agitation he would probably recover. Lady Northmoor seemed so entirely absorbed by his critical state, that she was not likely to betray the sad knowledge she had put aside in the secret chamber of her heart, more especially as her husband was still too much weighed down, and too slumberous to be observant, or to speak much, and knowing the child to be out of the house, he did not inquire for him.
Nevertheless, Mr. Trotman gladly approved of Lady Adela’s intention of sleeping in the house in case of any sudden collapse; and the servants, who were not to let Lady Northmoor know, evidently felt this a great relief.
‘Yes, it is a comfort to think some one will be within that poor thing’s reach,’ said Bertha, as they went back together, ‘and, if you can bear it, you are the right person.’
‘She will not let herself dwell on it. She never even looked at Mrs. Morton’s letter.’