Another month passed. Doctor Woodhouse came, as was his custom, more as a friend than from the belief that his knowledge could be of any avail. One particular morning he stopped to lunch, and went up again afterwards to see Mrs Hallam, staying some little time. He left Julia with her, and came down to where Sir Gordon was seated on the lawn with Bayle.
The latter started up, as he saw the doctor’s face, and his eyes asked him mutely for an explanation of his look.
The doctor answered him as mutely, while Sir Gordon saw it, and rose to stand agitatedly by his chair.
“Bayle,” he whispered; “I thought I was prepared, but now it has come it seems very hard to bear!”
Bayle glided away into the house, to go upstairs, meeting Thisbe on the way wringing her hands, and blinded with her tears.
“I couldn’t bear to stop, sir—I couldn’t bear to stop,” she whispered. “It’s come—it’s come at last.”
Bayle entered the room softly, steeling his heart to bear with her he loved some agonising scene. But he paused on the threshold, almost startled by the look of peace upon the wasted face, full in the bright Southern light.
Mrs Hallam smiled as she saw him there; and as he crossed the room and knelt by her side, she laid her hand in his, and feebly took Julia’s and placed them together.
“The rest is coming now,” she said.
Julia burst into a passion of weeping.