He replied in general terms to Lady Glistonbury, that he had the highest respect for Lady Sarah Lidhurst, and that no opinion injurious to her could be entertained by him.
“Respect she must command from all,” said Lady Glistonbury; “that it is out of any man’s power to refuse her: as to the rest, she leaves you, and I leave you, sir, to your own conscience.”
Lady Glistonbury rose, and so did Vivian. He hoped that neither her ladyship nor Lady Sarah had any cause——He hesitated; the words, to reproach, to complain, to be displeased, all came to his lips; but each seemed improper; and, none other being at hand to convey his meaning, he could not finish his sentence: so he began another upon a new construction, with “I should be much concerned if, in addition to all my other causes of regret in leaving Glistonbury Castle, I felt that I had incurred Lady Glistonbury’s or Lady Sarah’s displea—disapprobation.”
“As to that, sir,” said Lady Glistonbury, “I cannot but have my own opinion of your conduct; and you can scarcely expect, I apprehend, that a mother, such as I am, should not feel some disapprobation of conduct, which has——Sir, I beg I may not detain you—I have the honour to wish you a good journey and much happiness.”
An attendant came from an inner apartment with a message! from Lady Sarah, who was worse, and wished to see her mother—“Immediately!—tell her, immediately!”
The servant returned with the answer. Vivian was retiring, but he came back, for he saw at that moment a convulsive motion contract Lady Glistonbury’s face: she made an effort to walk; but if Vivian had not supported her instantly, she must have fallen. She endeavoured to disengage herself from his assistance, and again attempted to walk.
“For God’s sake, lean upon me, madam!” said Vivian, much alarmed. With his assistance, she reached the door of the inner room: summoning all the returning powers of life, she then withdrew her arm from his, and pointing back to the door at which Vivian entered, she said, “That is your way, sir.”
“Pardon me—I cannot go—I cannot leave you at this moment,” said Vivian.
“This is my daughter’s apartment, sir,” said Lady Glistonbury, stopping, and standing still and fixed. Some of the attendants within, hearing her ladyship’s voice, opened the door; Lady Glistonbury made an effort to prevent it, but in vain: the chamber was darkened, but as the door opened, the wind from an open window blew back the curtain, and some light fell upon a canopy bed, where Lady Sarah lay motionless, her eyes closed, and pale as death; one attendant chafing her temples, another rubbing her feet: she looked up just after the door opened, and, raising her head, she saw Vivian—a gleam of joy illumined her countenance, and coloured her cheek.
“Sir,” repeated Lady Glistonbury, “this is my daughter’s——”