On the other side of the bed stood Agnes, leaning against the wall, weary and faint; but there was no sound of weeping in the apartment; they would not sob, they would not make lamentation to vex or disturb the spirit hovering on the dark shores of Eternity’s mighty ocean.
They hushed their grief, and they bowed their heads in silent prayer, and the rustle of the angel’s wings—the angel who was come to fetch their darling—might almost have been heard through the stillness which abode in the room.
All at once Bessie rose, and passing round the bed, asked Agnes in a whisper,—
“Where is Arthur?”
“At Mr. Crofts’,” was the reply.
“Send for him,” said Bessie, and Agnes left the room.
After a while the rest of the family came in one by one—Alick and Cuthbert, Lucy and Laura, and the servants, Mrs. Piggott, and Prissy, and Jane; but when the silence was thus broken, the child grew restless, and then Heather motioned them to go—all save Agnes, and Bessie, who, crouched up in a dark corner, escaped observation. Time passed by, and still there came no tidings of Arthur. Once again Bessie spoke to Agnes, and again Agnes went softly downstairs; when she returned, she whispered that Alick was gone to fetch his brother.
With her anxious eyes Heather followed every movement of the pair, and at length she asked Bessie—“Is it so near?”
A silent pressure of her hand was Bessie’s only answer.
“Would you send some one for Mr. Henry?” the poor mother whispered.