Dr Lyster desired only that those who had already attended might be summoned; and then, giving up to his entreaties the accustomed ceremonial of waiting for them, he went to Cecilia.
Delvile did not dare accompany him; and so well was he acquainted with his plainness and sincerity, that though he expected his return with eagerness, he no sooner heard him upon the stairs, than fearing to know his opinion, he hastily snatched up his hat, and rushed vehemently out of the house to avoid him.
He continued to walk about the streets, till even the dread of ill news was less horrible to him than this voluntary suspense, and then he returned to the house.
He found Dr Lyster in a small back parlour, which Mrs Wyers, finding she should now be well paid, had appropriated for Delvile's use.
Delvile, putting his hand upon the Doctor's shoulder, said, “Well, my dear Dr Lyster, you, still, I hope”—
“I would I could make you easy!” interrupted the Doctor; “yet, if you are rational, one comfort, at all events, I can give you; the crisis seems approaching, and either she will recover, or before to-morrow morning”—-
“Don't go on, Sir!” cried Delvile, with mingled rage and horror, “I will not have her days limited! I sent not for you to give me such an account!”
And again he flew out of the house, leaving Dr Lyster unaffectedly concerned for him, and too kind-hearted and too wise to be offended at the injustice of immoderate sorrow.
In a few minutes, however, from the effect rather of despair than philosophy, Delvile grew more composed, and waited upon Dr Lyster to apologize for his behaviour. He received his hearty forgiveness, and prevailed upon him to continue in town till the whole was decided.
About noon, Cecilia, from the wildest rambling and most perpetual agitation, sunk suddenly into a state of such utter insensibility, that she appeared unconscious even of her existence; and but that she breathed, she might already have passed for being dead.