‘Pray don’t, papa; Philip has been so ill all day.’
‘Philip—pshaw!’ said Mr. Edmonstone, hastily. ‘How are you, yourself, my poor darling?’
‘Quite well, thank you,’ said Amy. ‘There is a room ready for you.’
Mrs. Edmonstone was extremely alarmed, sure that this was a grief too deep for outward tokens, and had no peace till she had made Amabel consent to come up with her, and go at once to bed. To this she agreed, after she had rung for Arnaud, and stood with him in the corridor, to desire him to go at once to Captain Morville, as softly as he could, and when he waked, to say Mr. and Mrs. Edmonstone were come, but she thought he had better not see them to-night; to tell him from her that she wished him good night, and hoped he would, sleep quietly. ‘And, Arnaud, take care you do not let him know the hour tomorrow. Perhaps, as he is so tired, he may sleep till afterwards.’
Mrs. Edmonstone was very impatient of this colloquy, and glad when Amabel ended it, and led the way up-stairs. She entered her little room, then quietly opened another door, and Mrs. Edmonstone found herself standing by the bed, where that which was mortal lay, with its face bright with the impress of immortality.
The shock was great, for he was indeed as a son to her; but her fears for Amabel would not leave room for any other thought.
‘Is not he beautiful?’ said Amy, with a smile like his own.
‘My dear, my dear, you ought not to be here,’ said Mrs. Edmonstone, trying to lead her away.
‘If you would let me say my prayers here!’ said she, submissively.
‘I think not. I don’t know how to refuse, if it would be a comfort,’ said Mrs. Edmonstone, much distressed, ‘but I can’t think it right. The danger is greater after. And surely, my poor dear child, you have a reason for not risking yourself!’