Mrs. Pennant listened with the dread of losing a single word: but however brief his expressions, the general’s manner of speaking, notwithstanding the intensity of his emotion, was so distinct that every word was audible, except the name of Lord Beltravers, which was not familiar to her. She asked again the name of Mr. Beauclerc’s second? “Lord Beltravers,” the general repeated with a forcible accent, and loosening his neck-cloth with his finger, he added, “Rascal! as I always told Beauclerc that he was, and so he will find him—too late.”
Except this exacerbation, the general was calmly reserved in speech, and Mrs. Pennant felt that she could not ask him a single question beyond what he had communicated. When he rose to go, which he did the moment he had finished what he had to say, she had, however, courage enough to hope that they should soon hear again, when the general should learn something more of Mr. Churchill.
Certainly he would let her know whatever he could learn of Mr. Churchill’s state.
Her eyes followed him to the door with anxious eagerness to penetrate farther into what his own opinion of the danger might be. His rigidity of composure made her fear that he had no hope, “otherwise certainly he would have said something.”
He opened the door again, and returning, said, “Depend upon it you shall hear how he is, my dear Mrs. Pennant, before you leave town to-morrow.”
“We will not go to-morrow,” she replied. “We will stay another day at least. Poor Miss Stanley will be so anxious——”
“I advise you not to stay in town another day, my dear madam. You can do no good by it. If Mr. Churchill survive this day, he will linger long I am assured. Take Helen—take Miss Stanley out of town, as soon as may be. Better go to-morrow, as you had determined.”
“But it will be so long, my dear general!—one moment—if we go, it will be so long before we can hear any further news of your ward.”
“I will write.”
“To Miss Stanley—Oh, thank you.”