She rose up—she grasped his arm in the sudden fear that flashed over her.
“You are deceiving me, and he is dead!”
“I am not deceiving you, Lady Isabel. He is not dead, but—it may be very near.”
She laid her face down upon the soft pillow.
“Going forever from me—going forever? Oh, Mr. Carlyle, let me see him for a minute—just one farewell! Will you not try for me!”
He knew how hopeless it was, but he turned to leave the room.
“I will go and see. But you will remain here quietly—you will not come.”
She bowed her head in acquiescence, and he closed the door. Had she indeed been his sister, he would probably have turned the key upon her. He entered the earl’s chamber, but not many seconds did he remain in it.
“It is over,” he whispered to Mrs. Mason, whom he met in the corridor, “and Mr. Wainwright is asking for you.”
“You are soon back,” cried Isabel, lifting her head. “May I go?”