In a few days they arrived in the village—sending from the inn a servant, to prepare their mother for their approach. I gently intimated to her the visitants we might expect. The previous evening, a change had taken place, which indicated approaching dissolution; and her mind (not uncommon in similar cases) seemed, almost instantaneously, to have recovered a portion of its original strength. She sighed deeply, while her eyes, which were fixed wistfully on my face, were lighted with a bright, but transient, lustre.
'My dear Emma,' said she, 'this is a trying moment for us both. I shall soon close my eyes, for ever, upon all worldly cares.—Still cherish, in your pure and ingenuous mind, a friendship for my Augustus—the darling of my soul! He may, in future, stand in need of consolation. I had formed hopes—vain hopes!—in which you and he were equally concerned. In the happiness of this partially-favoured child—this idol of my affections—all mine was concentrated. He has disappointed me, and I have lost the desire of living—Yet, he has noble qualities!—Who, alas! is perfect? Summon your fortitude, collect your powers, my child, for this interview!'
She sunk on her pillow—I answered her only with my tears. A servant entered—but spoke not—her look announced her tidings—It caught the eye of Mrs Harley—
'Let them enter,' said she; and she raised herself, to receive them, and assumed an aspect of composure.
I covered my face with my handkerchief—I heard the sound of footsteps approaching the bed—I heard the murmurs of filial sorrow—The voice of Augustus, in low and interrupted accents, struck upon my ear—it thrilled through my nerves—I shuddered, involuntarily—What a moment! My friend spoke a few words, in a faint tone.
'My children,' she added, 'repay to this dear girl,' laying her hand upon mine, 'the debt of kindness I owe her—she has smoothed the pillow of death—she is an orphan—she is tender and unfortunate.'
I ventured to remove for a moment the handkerchief from my eyes—they met those of Augustus—he was kneeling by the bed-side—his countenance was wan, and every feature sunk in dejection; a shivering crept through my veins, and chilled my heart with a sensation of icy coldness—he removed his eyes, fixing them on his dying mother.
'My son,' she resumed, in still fainter accents, 'behold in Emma, your sister—your friend!—confide in her—she is worthy of your confidence!'—'Will you not love him, my child,'—(gazing upon me,)—'with a sisterly affection?'
I hid my face upon the pillow of my friend—I threw my arms around her—'Your request is superfluous, my friend, my more than parent, ah, how superfluous!'
'Forgive me, I know the tenderness of your nature—yielding, in these parting moments, to the predominant affection of my heart—I fear, I have wounded that tender nature.' 'Farewell, my children! Love and assist each other—Augustus, where is your hand?—my sight fails me—God bless you and your little ones—God bless you all!—My last sigh—my last prayer—is yours.'