"I went up just before eight, and she was asleep," answered Jemima, with as pert an accent as he dared to use. "Who was to imagine she'd awake and be down so soon?"
"Why did she die? what killed her?" I asked, my sobs choking me. "Dead! dead! My Aunt Selina dead!"
"She was taken worse at eleven o'clock last night, and Mr. Lowe was sent for," explained Charlotte Delves. "He could do nothing, and she died at two."
"Where was Mr. Edwin Barley?"
"He was with her."
"Not when she was taken worse," interposed Jemima. "I was with her alone. It was my turn to sit up, and she had spoken quite cheerfully to me. Before settling myself in the arm-chair, I went to see if she had dropped asleep. My patience!—my heart went pit-a-pat at the change in her. I ran for Mr. Edwin Barley, and he came in. Mr. Lowe was sent for: everything was done, but she could not be saved."
I turned to Charlotte Delves in my sad distress. "She was so much better last night," I said, imploringly. "She was getting well."
"It was a deceitful improvement," replied Charlotte Delves—and she seemed really sad and grieved. "Lowe said he could have told us so had he been here. Mr. Edwin Barley quite flew out at him, avowing his belief that it was the medical treatment that had killed her."
"And was it?" I eagerly asked, as if, the point ascertained, it could bring her back to life. "Do they know what she died of?"
"As to knowing, I don't think any of them know too much," answered Charlotte Delves. "The doctors say the disorder, together with the shock her system had received, could not be subdued. Mr. Edwin Barley says it could have been, under a different treatment. Lowe tells me now he had little hope from the first."