"It is not death," said Mrs. Betts, peering close in the unconscious face. "The fire is out here: we will move him to his chamber at once."
As they raised him again one stiffened hand that clutched a letter relaxed and dropped it. The lawyer picked it up and gave it to Miss Fairfax. It was a week old—a sort of official letter recording the wreck of the Foam and the loss of her crew. The suddenness and tragical character of the news had been too much for the poor father. In the shock of it he had apparently staggered into the air and had fallen unconscious, smitten with paralysis. Such was the verdict of Mr. Wilson, the general practitioner at Mitford, who arrived first upon the scene, and Dr. Marks, the experienced physician from Norminster, who came in the early morning, supported his opinion. The latter was a stranger to the house, and before he left it he asked to see Miss Fairfax.
The night had got over between waiting and watching, and Bessie had not slept—had not even lain down to rest. She begged that Dr. Marks might be shown to her parlor, and Mr. John Short appeared with him. Mrs. Betts had put over her shoulders a white cachemire wrapper, and with her fair hair loosened and flowing she sat by the window over-looking the fields and the river where the misty morning was breaking slowly into sunshine. Both the gentlemen were impressed by a certain power in her, a fortitude and gentleness combined that are a woman's best strength in times of trouble and difficulty. They could speak to her without fear of creating fresh embarrassment as plainly as it was desirable that they should speak, for she was manifestly aware of a responsibility devolving upon her.
"Though I apprehend no immediate danger, Miss Fairfax, it is to be regretted that this sad moment finds Mr. Fairfax at variance with his only surviving son," said Dr. Marks. "Mr. Laurence Fairfax ought to be here. It is probable that his father has not made a final disposition of his affairs; indeed, I understand from Mr. John Short that he has not done so."
"Oh, does that matter now?" said Bessie.
"Mr. Fairfax's recovery might be promoted if his mind were quite at ease. If he should wish to transact any business with his lawyer, you may be required to speak of your own wishes. Do not waste the favorable moment. The stroke has not been severe, and I have good hopes of restoration, but when the patient is verging on seventy we can never be sure."
Dr. Marks went away, leaving Mr. Wilson to watch the case. Mr. John Short then explained to Bessie the need there was that she should be prepared for any event: a rally of consciousness was what he hoped for, perfect, whether tending to recovery or the precursor of dissolution. For he knew of no will that Mr. Frederick had made, and he knew that since the discovery of Mr. Laurence's marriage the squire had destroyed the last will of his own making, and that he had not even drawn out a rough scheme of his further intentions. The entailed estates were of course inalienable—those must pass to his son and his son's son—but there were houses and lands besides over which he had the power of settlement. Bessie listened, but found it very hard to give her mind to these considerations, and said so.
"My uncle Laurence is the person to talk to," she suggested.
"Probably he will arrive before the day is over, but you are to be thought of, you are to be provided for, Miss Fairfax."
"Oh, I don't care for myself at all," said Bessie.