Rob’s face brightened and glowed all over. “I wanted to stay with you and comfort you,” he said; “I can think of no one else when you are in trouble. Come in and rest, and tell me what it is. You must not overdo yourself. You must not suffer. I want to take care of you!”
“Oh, what is about me?” said Margaret. But she suffered herself to be persuaded, and went with him up to the West Chamber to tell him how it all was.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Mrs. Bellingham and Miss Leslie arrived as soon as convenient trains could bring them. The summons which Margaret wrote later that day, taking down her father’s message from his lips, was not instant, though as decided as he could make it without too much alarming the girl, whose nerves were shaken, and who sat and gazed at him with a wistful countenance, large-eyed and dismal, watching every look. When he spoke to her, her eyes filled, and she did not seem able to keep that anxious gaze from his face. But the doctor, when he came, was more consoling than alarming. There was nothing to be frightened about, he said, scolding Margaret, paternally. And by degrees the household calmed down and accepted the new state of affairs, and began to think it natural that Sir Ludovic should have taken to his bed. His son came and paid him a visit from Edinburgh, staying a single night, and sitting for a solemn hour or two by his father’s bedside, though he did not say much. “Is there anything I can do for you, sir?” he asked, and begged that he might be written to daily with news of his father’s state, though he could find so little to say to him. But the visit of Mr. Leslie was not nearly so important as that of “the ladies,” to which everybody looked forward with excitement. They arrived in the afternoon, having slept in Edinburgh the previous night. Just at the right moment they arrived, at the hour which is most proper for the arrival of a visitor at a country house, leaving just time enough to dress for dinner. And they came in with a rustle of silk into Sir Ludovic’s octagon room, where there was scarcely room for them, and gave him each a delicate kiss, filling the place with delicate odors.
“I hope you are a little better, dear papa,” Grace said; and Mrs. Jean, who was large and round, and scarcely could pass between the bed and the wall, cried out cheerily that it was a relief to her mind to see him looking so well.
“I never should have found out he was ill at all, if I had not been told,” Mrs. Bellingham said, whose voice was pitched higher than that of the others. Sir Ludovic greeted them kindly, and allowed them to put their faces against his for a moment without disturbing himself.
“Yes, I told you— I am very comfortable,” he said to Margaret, who stood behind, very eager to see what impression her father’s appearance would make on her sisters. She was very happy, poor child, to hear those cheerful words from Mrs. Bellingham’s high-pitched voice.
“Well, papa, now we have seen you, and I feel quite happy about you, we will go and make ourselves comfortable too,” said Mrs. Bellingham. “I hope you have a cup of tea for us, Margaret, after our journey? and you must come and pour it out, for I want to look at you. Papa will spare you a little. John is waiting in the next room, I see.”
“John will do very well,” said Sir Ludovic; “don’t derange yourselves, my dears, from your usual habits for me.”
“I assure you, dear papa,” said Grace, “I do not care at all for being put out of my usual habits. I will stay with you. What is there in comparison with a dear father’s wishes? You go, dearest Jean; I am sure you want some tea, and I will stay with dear papa. I can see in his eyes,” she added, in an audible undertone, pushing her sister gently toward the door, “that he wishes me to stay.”