“Mr. Sinclair is downstairs, madam, and wants to know if he may come up,” said the girl, as she handed the glass to Alice.
Alice dropped the glass, untasted.
“Where is General Garnet?” said Mrs. Chester.
“In the library, writing, madam.”
“Where is Colonel Chester?”
“Gone out riding, madam.”
“Thank Heaven! Yes, request Mr. Sinclair to come up, Milly.”
After the departure of the girl the mother and daughter remained in silent expectation. At last the light, quick footstep of Sinclair was heard upon the stairs.
“Go and meet him, Alice, my darling,” said the mother, with a smile.
Alice arose, and as he opened the door and advanced into the room, started forward and threw herself weeping into his arms. What could he do but press her to his bosom? Then he led her back to her mother’s bedside—stooped over the sick lady, taking her hand, and inquiring tenderly, respectfully, after her health of body and soul. While she was making her gentle, patient reply, the attention of all three was arrested by the noise of heavy, hurried footsteps hastening up the stairs.