Fanny sighed heavily, as if relieved from some unbearable weight, and, after remaining silent for about a minute, she removed her hands from her face, and said, in a calm tone of voice:—
“And now, what is to be done? can I be of any use?”
Astonished at the rapidity with which she had regained her self-control and presence of mind after the violent emotion she had so recently displayed, I replied:—
“Yes, love, you can, the Hall is too far off, and they are bringing him here”.
As I spoke these words she shuddered slightly, but seeing I was doubtful whether to proceed, she said, “Go on, pray”.
“Would you,” I continued, “break this to my mother, and tell her I believe—that is, I trust—there is no great danger—and—and—do that first.”
With a sad shake of the head, as if she mistrusted my attempt to reassure her, she quitted the room, whilst I obeyed Ellis's instructions by preparing the bed; after which I unclosed the hall-door, and, despatching the gardener's boy to fetch the surgeon, stood anxiously awaiting the arrival of the party. I had not done so many minutes when the measured tramp of feet gave notice of their approach, and in another instant they came in sight.
CHAPTER XXVIII — THE SUBSTANCE OF THE SHADOW
“Recovery, where art thou?
Daughter of Heaven, where shall we seek thy help?”
“Come thou and chase away
Sorrow and Pain, the persecuting Powers,
Who make the melancholy day so long,
So long the anxious night.”
“I look for thy approach,
O life-preserving Power! as one who strays
Alone in darkness o'er the pathless marsh,
Watches the dawn of day.”
—Southey.