"I have had a letter from your master to-day, Stephen," said Mrs Herbert, fearing to impart too suddenly the death of his young favourite, Edward.
"Have you, ma'am? and does he say he's well, and the young gentlemen and ladies? 'tis the best I can hope to hear now."
"He does not write in good spirits, Stephen; he has been suffering a great deal lately."
"Sure, ma'am, that's bad news; but what could any one expect but to be ill, away from one's own place, and all the air that's natural to one?"
"Your master has not been ill himself, Stephen; but one of his children."
"Not master Edward!" exclaimed the old man, taking alarm from Mrs
Herbert's countenance. No answer was given for a moment, and Stephen
turned to Amy for an explanation. "'Tis not master Edward; it can't be.
O Miss Amy! just speak."
"I will tell you, Stephen," said Mrs Herbert, recovering her composure. "It will grieve you very much; but it is indeed poor Edward, who was taken ill about a week since, and is now, I trust, gone to a happier world."
The poor old steward's bronzed complexion became of an unnatural sallow hue, and he leaned against the stone porch for support; but it seemed as if the power of utterance were taken from him.
"Run into the house and fetch a glass of water, Amy," said Mrs Herbert; and Amy, in extreme alarm, flew to obey her mother's order.
In a few moments she returned, followed by Mrs Bridget, a gaily-dressed, sharp-visaged person of about forty, who forgot the last grievous offence against her new gown when she heard Amy's frightened exclamation, that dear old Stephen was so ill she thought he must be dying. By this time, however, the colour had returned to his cheek, and he was able to inquire more calmly the particulars of his young favourite's illness. They were few, but very painful; for the disease, which was inflammation of the lungs, brought on by a neglected cold, had made most rapid progress, and he died about two days after he had first been considered seriously ill. "But," said Mrs Herbert, after she had answered the old man's various questions, "I have not told you yet, Stephen, the only thing which I think is likely now to give you pleasure: my brother talks of returning to Emmerton again to live."