“Will you be so kind, Miss Portman,” said Marriott, “as to let my lady know that they are come? for I am not well able to go, and you can speak more composed to her than I can.”
Miss Portman went to Lady Delacour’s bedchamber. The door was bolted. As Lady Delacour opened it, she fixed her eyes upon Belinda, and said to her with a mild voice, “You are come to tell me that the surgeon is arrived. I knew that by the manner in which you knocked at the door. I will see him this moment,” continued she, in a firm tone; and she deliberately put a mark in the book which she had been reading, walked leisurely to the other end of the room, and locked it up in her book-case. There was an air of determined dignity in all her motions. “Shall we go? I am ready,” said she, holding out her hand to Belinda, who had sunk upon a chair.
“One would think that you were the person that was going to suffer. But drink this water, my dear, and do not tremble for me; you see that I do not tremble for myself. Listen to me, dearest Belinda! I owe it to your friendship not to torment you with unnecessary apprehensions. Your humanity shall be spared this dreadful scene.”
“No,” said Belinda, “Marriott is incapable of attending you. I must—I will—I am ready now. Forgive me one moment’s weakness. I admire, and will imitate, your courage. I will keep my promise.”
“Your promise was to be with me in my dying moments, and to let me breathe my last in your arms.”
“I hope that I shall never be called upon to perform that promise.”
Lady Delacour made no answer, but walked on before her with steady steps into the room where Dr. X—— and the surgeon were waiting. Without adverting in the least to the object of their visit, she paid her compliments to them, as if they came on a visit of mere civility. Without seeming to notice the serious countenances of her companions, she talked of indifferent subjects with the most perfect ease, occupying herself all the time with cleaning a seal, which she unhooked from her watch-chain. “This seal,” said she, turning to Dr. X——, “is a fine onyx—it is a head of Esculapius. I have a great value for it. It was given to me by your friend, Clarence Hervey; and I have left it in my will, doctor,” continued she, smiling, “to you, as no slight token of my regard. He is an excellent young man; and I request,” said she, drawing Dr. X—— to a window, and lowering her voice, “I request, when you see him again, and when I am out of the way, that you will tell him such were my sentiments to the hour of my death. Here is a letter which you will have the goodness to put into his hands, sealed with my favourite seal. You need have no scruple to take charge of it; it relates not to myself. It expresses only my opinion concerning a lady who stands almost as high in your esteem, I believe, as she does in mine. My affection and my gratitude have not biassed my judgment in the advice which I have ventured to give to Mr. Hervey.”
“But he will soon be here,” interrupted Dr. X——, “and then—”
“And then I shall be gone,” said Lady Delacour, coolly,
“‘To that undiscover’d country,
From whose bourn no traveller returns.’”