The first thing was to get her away from the room, for the great change was approaching, and the parting struggle between the body and the spirit might be one of warfare—no sight for her. But in answer to their suggestion that she should go, she only leaned her head upon the pillow by her father and moaned in despair.
“She must be got out of the room,” cried one of the physicians, almost angrily. “Ma’am,” turning suddenly upon Mrs. Mason, “are there no reserves in the house—no one who can exert influence over the young lady?”
“She has scarcely any relatives in the world,” replied the housekeeper; “no near ones; and we happen to be, just now, quite alone.”
But Mr. Carlyle, seeing the urgency of the case, for the earl, with every minute, grew more excited, approached and whispered her: “You are as anxious as we can be for your father’s recovery?”
“As anxious!” she uttered reproachfully.
“You know what I would imply. Of course our anxiety can be as nothing to yours.”
“As nothing—as nothing. I think my heart will break.”
“Then—forgive me—you should not oppose the wishes of his medical attendants. They wish to be alone with him, and time is being lost.”
She rose up; she placed her hands on her brow, as if to collect the sense of the words, and then she addressed the doctors,—
“Is it really necessary that I should leave the room—necessary for him?”