She lay in a stupor that every one felt must end in death.
“And her brother has not arrived!” exclaimed Elfie, wringing her hands.
“But she has left her last words for him with me,” said Dr. Sales.
The physician went away, feeling certain that at his next visit he should see the white crape badge upon the door that should warn him a bright young life had left the earth.
The minister remained in the room, watching with Elfie beside the death-bed, and praying God for strength for all to bear the approaching, overwhelming bereavement.
The house was kept very quiet—very unreasonably so, since nothing on earth could now disturb the calm dreamer on the bed. But nevertheless it was kept so very quiet. Straw was laid before the line of garden wall fencing the road, to deaden even at that distance the sound of passing vehicles. The door-knocker was muffled and the wires of the bells were cut. Locks and hinges were oiled. And every man and woman in the place wore list slippers, and moved in silence and murmured in whispers.
Very, very still was the place. So that there was no warning of the approaching traveller, until the door of the sick room softly opened and Catherine crept in and whispered to Elfie:
“Mr. Justin has come.”
With the old familiar household servants Colonel Rosenthal was still Mr. Justin.
Elfie started up, and signing to Catherine to take her place, slipped out of the room and down stairs and passed into the library, where she naturally expected to find Justin.