Indeed they only pursued their discourse upon that particular subject, because it was connected with the chain of events which seemed adapted to carry out the prophetic hopes of the dying girl.
Nearly an hour had passed since they had left the chamber of death.
At length the door opened slowly, and Mr. Gregory entered the drawing-room.
His countenance was deadly pale; and yet it wore an expression of pious resignation.
Isabella and Richard knew that all was over.
Mr. Gregory advanced towards them, and taking their hands, said, "She is gone—she died in my arms! Almost her last words were, 'Tell Isabella and Richard sometimes to think of Mary-Anne.'"
The bereaved parent could subdue his grief no longer: he threw himself upon the sofa and burst into tears.
Nor were the cheeks of Isabella and Richard unmoistened by the holy dew of sweet sympathy.
"Richard," said Mr. Gregory, after a long pause, "you must write to my sons and tell them of this sad affliction. Desire them to return home immediately from college: I was wrong not to have sent for them before; but—my God! I knew not that my sweet child's death was so near!"
Markham instantly complied with Mr. Gregory's request, and despatched the letter to the post.