London had been shocked that day. Not so shocked as she might have been; for perhaps not one living man within her walls realised to his mind the possibility of the worst. Death!--for him! It was impossible to contemplate it: and from the first duke in the land down to the little pauper boys who sold for a penny the newspapers containing the bulletins none did seriously fear it.
Mrs. Cray listened as one aroused out of a dream. The Prince ill!--ill unto danger! The Prince who had been associated in men's minds as one enshrined in a bright halo of prosperity, in the very sunshine of happiness!--who had looked down from his dizzy height on other men as if he stood above the world! It seemed incredible. Watton gave the details, so far as they were known to the general public; the few days' illness, the apprehensions excited on the Friday, the fluctuating accounts of that same day; the unfavourable news of the morning, the afternoon's opinion of the medical men at Windsor, that if the Prince could only bear up through that one night--the night now entered upon--all would be well. And now the latest tidings were that he was sinking!
Mrs. Cray forgot her own weakness, her fatigue, in these all-absorbing tidings. But it was as impossible for her to believe in the worst for him as it had been for the public. A few minutes of awestruck consternation, and hope reasserted its supremacy in her heart. Nay, not only hope, but a certainty that it "would be well." I honestly believe that such was the prevailing feeling in every breast. It was so hard, it was so hard to look upon the reverse side of the picture.
"We had heard nothing of this at Honfleur!"
"And we can't be said to have heard much of it here until today," was Watton's answer. "It has come upon us with startling suddenness. Oh, if we can but get better tidings in the morning!"
"We shall be sure to do that, Watton," said Caroline, in a low, hopeful tone. "Death surely could not come to him."
Watton made her some tea, and she sat over the fire in the sitting-room while she drank it. She could not eat: generally her appetite was good, but fatigue and excitement had taken it away tonight. She told of her residence in the French town, she hinted slightly at their want of success, and Watton looked grave as she spoke of her side.
"You think the London doctors can cure you, Miss Caroline?"--for the old name came far more familiar to Watton than the new one.
"I did think so," replied Caroline, feeling that the strong conviction of this, which had amounted to a disease in Honfleur, had in some unexplainable manner gone out of her. "I seem not to be sure of it, as I was before I came."
"And shall you make a long stay in London?"