“You have come back at a sad hour, sir,” he said. “But no, it cannot harm her to see you. Come with me.”
Captain Forest went first into the sick-room; Hester waited outside. She had the little kitchen to herself, for all the Williamses, with the exception of the good mother, had moved for the time being to other quarters. Surely Mr Everard would come for her in a moment? Surely Captain Forest, who had gone into the sick-room with Nan in his arms, would quickly return? There was no sound. All was absolute quiet. How soon would Hester be summoned? Could she—could she bear to look at Annie’s dying face? Her agony drove her down on her knees.
“Oh, if you would only spare Annie!” she prayed to God. Then she wiped her eyes. This terrible suspense seemed more than she could bear. Suddenly the bedroom door was softly and silently opened, and Mr Everard came out.
“She sleeps,” he said; “there is a shadow of hope. Little Nan has done it. Nan asked to lie down beside her and she said, ‘Poor Annie! poor Annie!’ and stroked her cheek; and in some way, I don’t know how, the two have gone to sleep together. Annie did not even glance at her father; she was quite taken up with Nan. You can come to the door and look at her, Hester.”
Hester did so. A time had been when she could scarcely have borne that sight without a pang of jealousy; now she turned to Mr Everard:
“I—I could even give her the heart of little Nan to keep her here,” she murmured.