Mr. Watson was fast sinking—he lay apparently in a deep slumber, and there seemed no probability of his ever recovering sufficiently to recognise those around him, or to speak again.
Elizabeth had been watching beside him, alternately, with Penelope through the night; the village apothecary had said there was now no more to do; all the remedies his skill could suggest had proved unavailing, and they must patiently wait the result.
Margaret had gone to bed in hysterics, and required Nanny to sit up with her, so that it was a great blessing Penelope had been at home, as she had a head and nerves which were always in good order, and knew as much of medical treatment as the doctor.
At this moment Penelope joined them; she left the patient unchanged; the apothecary and the maid were with him, and hearing Emma's voice, she had come out for a moment to meet her.
"A sad ending to our Osborne Castle festivities, Emma," said she, as she shook her hand; "who would have thought it, when we set out? Elizabeth, don't you think we ought to have better advice? I am certain that man there does not know in the least what he is about; there must be a better doctor at some of the towns round here—Bradford, or somewhere—could not we send for one?"
Elizabeth could not tell; they had never had occasion to send for a physician; and she did not know where one could be found. Emma enquired if notice of their father's danger had been despatched to their brothers; it appeared neither of them had thought of this; but it must be done immediately.
They were about twenty miles from Croydon; and by sending a letter by the mail-coach, which passed through Bradford, they knew Robert would hear the same evening, and might be at Winston easily within twenty-four hours. This much they settled on, and a note was written, and despatched by a trusty messenger, who was to catch the coach at the inn at Bradford, and then try and bring back a physician with him.
Mr. —— seemed much relieved when he learnt the project of calling in farther advice, and thus shifting the weight of responsibility from his own shoulders. He thought it probable that the patient might linger many hours, possibly two or three days; and with a promise to return in a few hours, he now took his leave for the present.
It is needless to attempt to describe all the feelings which oppressed the sisters as they sat watching the sick-bed—perhaps the death-bed of their only parent. Hours stole away, bringing no change, and no alleviation of their fears. Margaret did not join the watch; her sensibility, as she designated it, bringing on violent hysterics, which made attention and nursing necessary for her. Emma tried to soothe her, in vain; Penelope was sarcastic and bitter; Elizabeth declared she had no time to attend to her vagaries, and that she would be soon as well as any of them, if she was not meddled with.
About two o'clock they were roused by the sound of carriage wheels at the door, and Elizabeth stealing into the passage, where a window looked on the entrance, came back with the information that it was a post-chariot, from which a gentleman, dressed like a physician, had alighted, and that there was somebody else in the carriage, but she could not tell who it was.