CHAPTER XXX.
It was happy for Emily Morton that the attention which Mrs Harrington's situation demanded, when the fact of her loss forced itself upon her mind, obliged her in some degree to forget the misery of her own feelings. So much was required to be done, that she had no time to realise the vast blank which that one moment had made in her existence; and her chief anxiety now was to prevent Mrs Herbert from being disturbed. This, however, was impossible. She had not, indeed, heard the bell; but she soon learned all that had happened, and went directly to Mrs Harrington's room to entreat that Emily would allow her to take her place, and at least lie down for a few hours herself, even if sleep were, as she feared, out of the question. But Emily's only support was in exertion. To have been left alone in her own chamber, with everything around to remind her of the treasure which had been taken from her, would have been a trial so great that she could not suffer herself to dwell upon it. "I must stay," she said; "it is all I can do; and I do not need rest."
Mrs Herbert looked at her anxiously. "You do not know what you need just now, my dear; but perhaps you are right; only," she added, as she kissed Emily's burning forehead, and observed the trembling of her limbs, "I have felt lately almost as if you were my eldest child; and you must allow me a mother's authority."
Emily could not answer; but Mrs Herbert's affection, even in that hour of bitterness, relieved the oppressive sense of desolation which had before weighed her spirit to the earth; and when again left to herself, she was able to dwell with greater composure upon the scene through which she had just passed, and felt truly thankful that her prayers had been heard, and that strength had been given her to support it.
The morning had dawned before Mrs Harrington was sufficiently recovered to allow of her being left; and while Emily was still lingering, unable to summon resolution to go to her own room, a gentle knock was heard at the door, and Amy's voice asked permission to enter. "Mamma sent me," she said, as calmly as her agitation would allow. "She wishes you so much to go to bed; and we have been getting my room ready for you, that you may be near us, if you want anything. I am to be in mamma's sitting-room, so that no one shall go to you unless you like it."
"You had better go," observed Mrs Harrington, faintly; "you must require rest more than any one. Pray do not stay with me."
Emily hesitated. She thought that, if the effort she dreaded were made at once, the most painful trial would be over. But Amy's pleading look could not be resisted. "It has been my only comfort the last half hour," she continued, "to try and make all nice for you; and poor Dora has been helping me; and Margaret sent her love to you, only she cannot bear to see any one."
"You must go," insisted Mrs Harrington, "If Morris is left with me, I shall not require any one else." And Emily did not wait any longer, for she was beginning to suffer from the effects of all she had undergone.
The room had been so prepared by Amy's thoughtfulness, that it almost looked as if Emily had inhabited it for weeks; and little as she then cared for personal comfort, she yet felt unspeakably relieved by these tokens of affection; for a child's love had lately been so associated with every thought and feeling, that without it there was an aching void in her heart which nothing else could fill.
Her rest, if such it could be called, was short and broken; but in her half-waking intervals. Amy's face came before her with its expression of peaceful innocence, as if to remind her that something was still left in the world to which her affections might cling: and when she arose to the full consciousness of sorrow, her first comfort was the thought that it was God who had ordained her trial, and the second that He had remembered her in her distress, by giving her such friends as she felt Mrs Herbert and Amy to be.