This time, however, Betty, with all her experience, was not a true prophet. The strength of the dying woman was fictitious. As soon as she had got beyond the point at which her mind could still work, her body went down like so much dead weight; consciousness and intelligence had failed her while Sara was in the act of making her promise, and in a few minutes the rector, excited and rather angry, joined the others down stairs. “You should have waited, Sara,” he said, severely; “no worldly affairs could be so important as to justify—And then what can you do for the poor girl? I would humor the fancies of the dying as much as any one; but if the poor thing is left destitute, unless you take her into your service—”
“Mr. Hardcastle,” exclaimed Jack, furious, “do you know whom you are speaking of? Miss Preston is my betrothed wife.”
The rector fell back in dismay for a moment. Then he recovered himself with a certain dignity. “My dear Jack,” he said, “this is not a moment to discuss any act of youthful folly. Your good father ought to know of this. Don’t, I beg of you, don’t say any thing more to me.”
“And all that we have in the world belongs to Pamela,” said Sara, with a sigh. Mr. Hardcastle looked at the brother and sister, and his usual discrimination forsook him. He thought they were both out of their senses. As there was nobody else to communicate with, he looked round at old Betty, who stood listening eagerly; and Betty, too, elevated her eyebrows, and shook her head. Were they going mad? Was there some idiocy in the air which affected every body? The rector went to the window, and turned his back upon them, and looked out in his bewilderment. He felt very sorry for poor Mr. Brownlow. Then he seemed to get a glimmering of the meaning of it all. It was for Sara’s aid in securing this marriage that the poor creature up stairs had been so anxious. Her mind had been passionately occupied about merely worldly interests to the last; and for this he and his higher consolation had been thrust away. Poor Brownlow! Mr. Hardcastle thought of his own dutiful Fanny, who never gave way to any vagaries. And he buttoned his coat with a friendly instinct. “I am going to see your father, as I can be of no farther use here,” he said; and there was a world of disapproval in his tone.
But just then there were some hurried movements above, and a cry. It was Pamela, who was calling on her mother, appealing to an ear which no longer heard. They all knew instinctively what it meant. Sara started up, trembling and clasping her hands. She had never been in the same house with death before—never that she knew of; and a dreadful sense that Mrs. Preston had suddenly become a spiritual presence, and was everywhere about her, seized upon the girl. “I promise,” she said, wildly, with lips that gave forth very little sound. As for Jack, he too started as if something had struck him. He went up to his sister, though he had been angry with her, and took her into his arms for a moment. “Sara, go to her,” he said. He forgot all about secondary things—his heart bled for his Pamela. “Go to her!” he cried; and something like a sob came from his breast. Not for the poor soul that was gone—not for her to whom at last the trouble and toil were over; for the young creature who remained behind to profit by all the mother’s unrewarded pains—for the living, not for the dead.
The doctor came down stairs shortly after; and though he was grave, there was a professional tone about him which dispelled the awe of the group below. “It is all over,” he said, “and a very good thing too for that poor girl. She could not have stood it much longer. I am very glad Miss Brownlow has gone to her. It’s excessively good of your sister. I was obliged to interfere, you know. Nobody need hold themselves bound, unless they please, by a promise extorted like that; but in such a case one never can tell what might have happened. The patient must be humored. I feared—”
“No more,” said Jack—“don’t say any more; you did what was quite right. It is Miss Preston who must be considered now. Could she be removed at once? Would it be safe to take her away at once? for my sister, of course, I mean.”
“Miss Preston?” said the doctor, a little puzzled. “Oh, the daughter, you mean, poor thing! It would be the very best plan to take her away; but she is a good little thing, and she wouldn’t go.”
“Never mind your opinion of her,” cried Jack, keeping his temper with difficulty. “Tell me if we can take her away?”
“She will not go,” said the doctor, offended in his turn. “As for opinions, I have a right to my opinion if she was the queen. She’s not the sort of girl to be taken away. After the funeral it may be done, perhaps. Good-morning. I shall see her to-morrow. Mr. Hardcastle, if you like I can set you down at the rectory—I am going that way.”