"I don't think any morning will dawn for me," was Mrs. Cumberland's remark. "I sent you word I was coming home to die. I wanted to come for many reasons. I knew the journey would do me harm; I had put it off too long. But I had to come home: I could not die away from it."
Every consoling thing that Jelly could think of, she said, assuring her mistress it was nothing but the journey that had brought her into this state of depression.
"I want to see Mr. North," resumed Mrs. Cumberland. "You must bring him to me."
"Not to-night," said Jelly.
"To-night. At once. There is no time to be lost. To see him was one of the things I had to come home for."
And Mrs. Cumberland, ill though she was, was as resolute in being obeyed as she had ever been in the days of her health. Jelly had the sense to know that refusal would excite her more than any result from compliance, and prepared to obey. As she passed out of the presence of Mrs. Cumberland, she saw Ellen Adair sitting on the stairs, anxiously listening for any sound from the sick-room that might tell how all was going on within it.
"Oh, Miss Ellen! You should not be there."
"I cannot rest anywhere, Jelly. I want to know how she is. She is my only friend on this side of the wide world."
"Well now, Miss Ellen, look here--you may come in and stay with her, whilst I am away: I was going to call Ann. But mind you don't talk to her."
Hastily throwing on a shawl, Jelly started for Dallory Hall. It was an inclement night, pouring with rain. And Ellen Adair took up her place in silence by the side of the dying woman--for she was dying, however ignorant they might be of the fact. Apart from Ellen's natural grief for Mrs. Cumberland, thoughts of what her own situation would be, if she lost her, could but intrude on her mind, bringing all sorts of perplexity with them. It seemed to her that she would be left without home or protector in the wide world.