Until I can go back! Poor thing! what had she to go back to? A lodging in a foreign land that they might be turned from at any hour, for the rent could not be paid up; scanty nourishment, care, trouble, almost despair. Only Mark to lean upon, with his wavering instability: his vague chatter of the something that was to "turn up." Better depend upon a reed than upon Mark Cray.
Sara Davenal had drawn back for a moment, that the shock on her own face might be subdued before presenting it to Caroline. Oswald passed round to her.
"Is she dying?" came the frightened whisper.
"Do not be alarmed," he answered. "She looked worse than this when I first brought her in. She has had a good deal of excitement and fatigue these last few days, and that tells upon her appearance."
"Yes--but--do you know there's a look in her face that puts me in mind of papa's. Of papa's as it was the night he died."
It was not often that Sara gave way to emotion. The moisture had gathered on her brow, and her hands were trembling. Oswald gently laid his hand upon her shoulder.
"You are not going to faint, surely, Sara!"
"No, no "--and the slightest possible smile parted her trembling lips. "I used to think I was very brave, but lately--at times--I have found myself a coward. I seem to become afraid at trifles," she continued in a dreamy tone, as if debating the question with herself why it should be so.
"Where's Sara? I thought I saw her."
Sara moved forward at the words. She suppressed all sign of emotion as she stooped over her cousin. Caroline was the one to show it now. She burst into tears and sobbed hysterically.