Thursday, June 18th.
I gladly resume my journal; I feel lost without my writing. Emily appears really better. Of course she knows nothing of Mr. Benson's intended departure. I have not been able to learn when he sails. He only says in his note, "as soon as his arrangements can be made." Emily seems indifferent to every thing; and, when mother and I talk cheerfully, turns her face away. But I have seen the tears trickle through her fingers when she thought herself unnoticed. To-day, however, she is brighter, and though not by any means as she once was, she appears to have made her mind up to some course; and to feel better for her decision. But this is mere suspicion. Time will show whether I am correct. This afternoon she sat up in the easy chair more than an hour, and amused herself with Pauline, who looked at her very seriously at first, as if she did not quite understand all these changes.
Early this morning, I begged a ride with Frank as far as Mr. Lewis's, and told him my intention was to walk back. To the latter part of my proposition, he very unwillingly consented, as it is half a mile, and the heat is great. But with my parasol I thought I might venture.
Mrs. Lewis came into the little entry to receive me, and told me in a low tone, her husband was failing fast, and she thought, could not live many days. "He will be right pleased to see you. He has set his heart upon it." I then followed her up-stairs to the room. He is now wholly confined to the bed.
Every article of furniture, I observed, was scrupulously neat; and something in the appearance and conversation of the family reminded me forcibly of the household of the Dairyman, as described in Legh Richmond's well known tract entitled "The Dairyman's Daughter." There was an air of respectability, which is often felt, but which cannot easily be described.
Mr. Lewis was sitting bolstered up in bed. He could not breathe when lying down; and could only speak in a broken whisper, with long intervals between his words. Sitting with him was a married sister, who had followed him to this country, and who had now come to remain with him until after the closing scene.
I took my seat near the bed, and begged Mrs. Lewis to allow me to pass him the cordial with which he was constantly obliged to wet his lips. With a courtesy she thanked me and resumed her sewing, while I addressed a few words to the poor sufferer.
"I am afraid you are too sick to hear me talk, you seem very ill this morning."
"All—peace—here," he whispered, laying his emaciated hand upon his breast.
I expressed very great pleasure that God had heard his prayer, and asked whether he felt any of the fears with which he was troubled at my last visit.