“Sir Henry said—” faltered Mr. Temple.
“Then there is none for me—none, none!” went on the wretched woman, in her despair. “Why should I lose everything? Why should God take everything from me? I have been a good woman for Phil’s sake, and He is going to take him—all the good that is in me will be buried in his grave!”
“Hush, hush, my poor girl; do not talk thus.”
“What do you understand,” continued Mrs. Temple, yet more wildly, “of love like mine? You are old—you do not suffer—”
“I do, God knows I do!” cried the unhappy man, and tears rushed into his eyes, and ran down his furrowed cheeks as he spoke.
“When George Hill died, I bore it for Phil’s sake,” went on Mrs. Temple, regardless, or forgetful, of the useless pain she was inflicting; “and now—and now, my darling, my darling, must I lose you, too?”
“Come to him now, at least,” urged Mr. Temple; “you would wish to be with him, would you not, Rachel? There may be some—parting word.”
Mrs. Temple moaned aloud.
“You mean before he—”