“No, no!” she cried. “Take me to him at once, or I cannot bear it. Don’t speak to me, Antony. Don’t let anybody speak to me; but you must not leave me for a moment.”
Linny was at the door, standing with the handle in her hand, but she drew back as we approached, and then ran sobbing into the next room, where Mrs Hallett was sitting helpless and alone.
I obeyed Miss Carr, leading her quickly inside, and closing the door, where she stood for a moment with one hand pressing her breast; then she hastily tore off bonnet and veil, gazing at the pale face and great dreamy eyes fixed wistfully upon the window.
The noise of our entry, slight as it was, seemed to rouse him, for he turned his gaze heavily from the light towards where we stood, and I saw that he held in his thin wasted hand a little grey kid glove, the glove we had found in Epping Forest that happy day when we met the sisters in our wait.
But that was forgotten in the change I saw come over the poor fellow’s face. It seemed to light up; the dull dreamy eyes dilated; a look of dread, of wonder, or joy seemed to come into them, and then he seemed to make an effort, and stared wildly round the room, but only to gaze at Miss Carr again as she stood with her hands half raised in a beseeching way, till, with a wild cry, his head seemed to fall back and he lay without motion.
I heard steps outside, but I darted to the door, and stopped Linny and Mary from entering, hardly knowing what I did, as Miss Carr took a step or two forward, and threw herself upon her knees by the bed, dinging to his hands, placing one arm beneath the helpless head, and sobbing and moaning passionately.
“I have killed him—I have killed him! and I came that he might live. Stephen, my love, my hero, speak to me—speak to me! God of heaven, spare him to me, or let me die?”
I was one moment about to summon help, the next prepared to defend the door against all comers, and again the next ready to stop my ears and flee from the room. But she had bidden me stay, and not leave her, and I felt it a painful duty to be her companion at such a time. So there I stayed, throwing myself in a chair by the door, my head bent down, seeming to see all, to identify every act, but with my face buried in my hands, though hearing every impassioned word.
“No,” I heard him say softly; “no: such words as those would have brought me from the grave. But why—why did you come?”
“I could bear it no longer,” she moaned. “I have fought against it till my life has been one long agony. I have felt that my place was here—at your side—that my words, my prayers would make you live; and yet I have stayed away, letting my pride—my fear of the world—dictate, when my heart told me that you loved me and were almost dying for my sake.”