All was now confusion. Mrs. Burns was flying for restoratives. Emily and Allen chafing her cold hands, while the servants alarmed at the noise were running in from every direction. Joseph walked deliberately into another room, slamming the door after him. The Doctor proposed taking the unconscious bride to her own apartment. Emily indignantly refused, and said, "I will not leave her in the house another moment." But neither her husband nor her physician would consent to have her leave in that condition. Beside the latter, determined to leave nothing undone, meant secretly to make one more appeal to Joseph in his sister's behalf.
After a few moments, the sufferer drew a long sigh, and becoming conscious, stared wildly about the room, and then burst into a passionate fit of weeping.
The Doctor, who knew this scene ought not to be prolonged, sat down by her side, and gently tried to soothe her. He soon drew from her the fact of her strong desire to carry with her the portraits of her parents.
Emily began to urge her afflicted friend to hasten her departure. In truth she says that she feared every moment a fresh outrage; and Lucy left the room feebly, as if the weight of years had fallen upon her. She wished to go through the house and take a sorrowful leave of the home of her childhood, and more especially of the apartment where she had spent two years in the society and care of her father; now hallowed by the remembrance of his peaceful death. Mrs. Burns supported her on one side, and Emily on the other, while she thus took her sad farewell of places and objects so dear to her heart.
It was not the thought of leaving the gorgeously furnished parlors, where the brilliant-hued carpets gave back no echo of the foot-step—where were mirrors the height of the rooms—chandeliers where the light was caught and reflected from innumerable hanging crystals—crimson velvet lounges and divans whose outstretched arms invited repose; it was not the thought of leaving these which overpowered her. No; it was the nursery of her childhood,—the cradle of her infancy—the closet, in which kneeling by her gentle mother, she had first learned to pray—the private sitting-room where her willing ears first drank in vows of affection from her Allen—the chamber in which both father and mother had breathed out their souls to God. These were the places and objects over which she yearned in agony of spirit as she gazed her long farewell.
Then came her separation from the old servants who had many of them remained for years solely out of affection for her. And who, when her sorrow for herself was changed to care for her stricken father, had shared her duties and attentions to him during the long period of his sickness. She assured them she should never forget their faithfulness or affection. Mrs. Burns, who had long been regarded as a friend and companion, was to accompany her, and for the present to remain in the house of her father-in-law. The rest crowded around her and wept aloud.
In the mean time the Doctor had taken advantage of their absence to venture into the presence of Joseph; when he asked him if it was indeed his intention to drive his only sister from her home.
The unnatural brother coldly replied, "she must leave, and the sooner the better for all concerned."
Frank then begged for her the portraits of her parents.
"No, not an article shall she—" but seeing an awful look of indignation on the Doctor's face he checked himself, and said, "well, I won't object to that; they're no use to me. You may tell her she may take them,—and stay," he added as Frank was leaving the room, "tell her that she may send a servant for all her gewgaws and finery; I shall want them out of the way."