“I’ll tell you what I would like. If he should revive a little, as he may, and if the minister had no objections, a few might come in, mother and Cynthia, and old Davie Fleming, and two or three others, and take the cup and the bread with him, not that it would make any real difference—”
“Betsey,” said the squire’s voice from the other room.
They were both with pale faces at his bedside in a moment.
“Did I hear Betsey’s voice? Or did you only say she was coming, Lizzie? Oh, she is here, is she? Well, I’ve got something to say to Betsey. It isn’t best to put off these things too long.”
Poor old squire! He had said almost the same words every time he had seen Betsey for the last year or two, and it never occurred to either of them that he would not forget the words as soon as they were uttered. After taking some nourishment he was much revived and strengthened.
“Yes, I want to speak to Betsey about some business. Jacob isn’t here, is he? Because this is between Betsey and me. It was all over and done with before Jacob knew anything about my business, and he needn’t know now. Go up-stairs, Lizzie, to the store-room where the old bureau is, and your mother’s little wheel, and you’ll find what I want—the old saddle-bag—in the left-hand, deep drawer. There are papers in it; but you’d better bring the bag down.”
Elizabeth waited a moment, thinking he might drop asleep again, but he did not.
“I feel rested. It won’t hurt me, Lizzie. Better go now, and have it over with—”
Elizabeth looked at her cousin.
“You’d better go, I guess. It will satisfy him, even if he cannot do anything about it.”