"And then we can only trust."
Something more than the MERE words struck her. She examined him closely for a minute.
"You mean—yes—I understand what you mean. But you are mistaken. The doctor would have told me—if—if—" she shivered, and left the sentence unfinished.
"Dr. Brown was afraid—we were all afraid," broke in Mrs. Tod, sobbing. "Only Mr. Halifax, he said—"
Miss March turned abruptly to John. That woeful gaze of hers could be answered by no words. I believe he took her hand, but I cannot tell. One thing I can tell, for she said it to me herself afterwards, that he seemed to look down upon her like a strong, pitiful, comforting angel; a messenger sent by God.
Then she broke away, and flew up-stairs. John came in again to me, and sat down. He did not speak for many minutes.
After an interval—I know not how long—we heard Mrs. Tod calling loudly for "Mr. Halifax." We both ran through the empty kitchen to the foot of the stairs that led to Mr. March's room.
Mr. March's room! Alas, he owned nothing now on this fleeting, perishable earth of ours. He had gone from it: the spirit stealing quietly away in sleep. He belonged now to the world everlasting.
Peace be to him! whatever his life had been, he was HER father.
Mrs. Tod sat half-way down the stair-case, holding Ursula March across her knees. The poor creature was insensible, or nearly so. She—we learnt—had been composed under the terrible discovery made when she returned to his room; and when all restorative means failed, the fact of death became certain, she had herself closed her father's eyes, and kissed him, then tried to walk from the room—but at the third step she dropped quietly down.