She found it was from Brown, the housekeeper, informing her that Reynolds had been seized with a violent and dangerous illness; that the doctors, who attended him, gave little hope of his recovery; and that he so constantly expressed his anxiety to see her, and Lord Fitzhenry, that she could not help complying with his request, and informing her ladyship of his situation and wishes. She added—“I have also taken the liberty to write to my lord; and not knowing where his lordship is, have sent the letter to the steward in town to forward to him.”
Emmeline knew but too well whither the letter would follow him; but thinking he might not receive it in time, or that, possibly, in the society he then was, he might be little inclined to attend such a summons, she determined immediately to go to Arlingford. How much the desire of being there, of visiting every spot, every inanimate object in her mind connected with Fitzhenry, and the possibility even of thus meeting him, might have influenced her benevolent decision—probably she herself did not know.
On arriving at Arlingford, Emmeline’s first question was, whether Lord Fitzhenry was there: and the feeling of deep disappointment with which she learnt that he was not, and that he was not even expected, betraying to herself her real object in coming, made her half-ashamed when at length she enquired after the poor invalid.
The accounts of Reynolds’s situation had been in no way exaggerated. He was still alive, and sensible; but there was no possibility whatever of recovery. Emmeline therefore endeavoured to overcome her own selfish feelings, and went immediately to the sick room.
Independent of the gratification she received from witnessing the pleasure which her presence seemed to give to the faithful old servant, the duty she undertook then was one every way better suited to her present state of mind, than the dissipation in which she had been lately engaged. It soothed and quieted the tumult of her feelings, and brought back to her mind some of the innocent, calm remembrances of happier days. Educated by her mother in the exercise of every religious duty, she, who had so lately been seen glittering in ball rooms, now knelt by the bed of sickness; and while raising the dying man’s mind and hopes to that better world to which he was hastening, she found herself strengthened to bear the sorrows of that, in which she was still appointed to suffer.
Towards the end of the second day after Emmeline’s arrival at Arlingford, Reynolds grew rapidly worse; the symptoms of death seemed to be fast increasing, and, aware of his approaching dissolution, his anxiety for Fitzhenry’s arrival, and the nervous perturbation of his mind, were painful to witness. Emmeline frequently asked if he had any request to make, any wish she could communicate to him; but his only answer was, that he must see him before he died.
To compose, and turn his thoughts to other things, Emmeline had again recourse to religion; and, when thus employed, and while the last rays of the evening sun shone faintly through the curtains of the sick room on her kneeling figure, and on the sacred book she held in her hand, the door of the apartment slowly opened, and Fitzhenry appeared.
He started back on seeing Emmeline, and, for a moment, stood still, as if awed by the scene before him; but Reynolds recognizing him, and exclaiming—“’Tis him! God be praised, I shall now die in peace,” Fitzhenry hastened up to him, kindly taking his extended hand; then again looking at Emmeline—“Good God! Lady Fitzhenry, since when have you been here?”
“Only a day or two; I was sent for,” said Emmeline, hardly knowing whether thus unexpectedly seeing her had given him pain or pleasure.
“I was so bold as to send for her ladyship,” said Reynolds. “It was my request, my dying request. I knew I had not long to live. I knew I should not die easy, unless I could once more see you, once more see that angel!” and still grasping Fitzhenry with one hand, he held out the other to Emmeline.