“Ah! is it true?”
“He does not seem as ill as Frank; but there have been bleedings at the nose, which have brought him very low, and which have hitherto been the worst symptoms,” and here the steady sadness of his voice quivered a little.
Lenore uttered a cry of dismay, and murmured, “Your mother?”
“She is absorbed in him. Happily, she can be with him constantly. They seem to rest in each other’s presence, and not to look forward.”
“And Cecil?”
“It has taken the lethargic turn with Cecil. She is almost always asleep, and is now, I believe, much better; but in truth we have none of us been allowed to come near her. Her maid, Grindstone, has taken the sole charge, and shuts us all out, for fear, I believe, of our telling her how ill Raymond is.”
“Oh, I know Grindstone.”
“Who looks on us all as enemies. However, Raymond has desired us to write to her father, and he will judge when he comes.”
They were almost at the place of parting. Eleonora kept her hand on his arm, longing for another word, nay, feeling that without it her heart would burst. “Who is with Frank?”
“Anne. She hardly ever leaves him. She is our main-stay at the Hall.”