"Mr. North cannot go," broke forth madam to the servant. "Go and say so."
But Jelly, to whom the words penetrated as she stood in the hall, had no notion of her mistress's wishes being set at nought by madam. Jelly had a great deal of calm moral and physical courage--in spite of the supernatural terrors that had recently influenced her--some persons might have said her share of calm impudence also: and she made no ceremony of putting her black bonnet inside the room.
"My mistress is dying, sir; I don't think there can be a doubt of it," she said, advancing to Mr. North. "She wishes to say a few last words to you, if you'll please to come. There's no time to be lost, sir."
"Bless me!--poor Fanny!" cried Mr. North, rising: his hands beginning to tremble a little. "I'll come at once, Jelly."
"You will not go," spoke madam, as if she were issuing an imperial edict.
"I must go," said Mr. North. "Don't you hear, madam, that she is dying?"
"I say you shall not go."
"The wishes of the dying must be respected by the living," interposed Jelly, still addressing Mr. North. "Otherwise there's no telling what ghosts might haunt 'em after."
The words were somewhat obscure, but their meaning was sufficiently plain. Mr. North took a step or two towards the door: madam came quickly round and placed herself before him.
"My will is law in this house, and out of it you do not go."