“I want to see Mr. de Crespigny,” Eleanor cried, eagerly; “I want to see him very particularly, if you please. I know that he will see me if you will be so good as to tell him that I am here.”
The butler opened his mouth to speak, but before he could do so a door opened, and Miss Lavinia de Crespigny appeared. She was very pale, and carried a handkerchief in her hand, which she put to her eyes every now and then; but the eyes were quite dry, and she had not been weeping.
“Who is that?” she exclaimed, sharply. “What is the matter, Parker? Why can’t you tell the person that we can see nobody to-night?”
“I was just a-goin’ to tell her so,” the butter answered; “but it’s Mrs. Monckton, and she says she wants to see poor master.”
He moved away from the door, as if his responsibility had ceased on the appearance of his mistress, and Eleanor entered the hall.
“Oh, dear Miss Lavinia,” she cried, almost breathless in her eagerness, “do let me see your uncle. I know he will not refuse to see me. I am a favourite with him, you know. Please let me see him.”
Miss Lavinia de Crespigny applied her handkerchief to her dry eyes before she answered Eleanor’s eager entreaty. Then she said very slowly,—
“My beloved uncle departed this life an hour ago. He breathed his last in my arms.”
“And in mine,” murmured Miss Sarah, who had followed her sister into the hall.
“And I was a-standing by the bedside,” observed the butler, with respectful firmness; “and the last words as my blessed master said before you come into the room, Miss Lavinia, was these: ‘You’ve been a good servant, Parker, and you’ll find you’re not forgotten.’ Yes, miss, ‘You’ll find you’re not forgotten, Parker,’ were his last words.”