‘And she seems—harder than she is. It’s her—- principle. She has more—love in her—than she knows. If you wait long enough, it will come out. John—remember that. She will not let—her heart speak. It’s her—principle. She has—always done that. She has never—let her heart speak.’ The old lady stirred a little in her bed. Her voice strengthened for a moment. ‘Except once,’ she said. ‘And you know how that—turned out. She blames me, for I—was always fond of him—John.’
Her voice was so faint he could scarcely hear it, though every word was so precious to him, and though it was so hard to understand.
‘Poor dear,’ she resumed, ‘poor dear—if ever you should see him—you can tell him—I—always—prayed for him—to—the—end.’
‘Who is it, grandmamma? Oh, one word—tell me—who is it?’
The light in her eyes flickered a little. Perhaps she did not hear him. They wandered, fixed on his face for a moment, then strayed uncertain to other things.
‘It’s about Emily,’ she said, ‘Emily—don’t you know, Emily? You will think—she is hard—but, no—that’s her principle. Where—where is she? I thought—just now—she was here. Emily!’ She raised her voice a little, to call. And then a smile came over her face. Her hand dropped from John’s shoulder. ‘Yes,’ she said; ‘you are right, Emily—you always are right. I’ll talk—no more. I’ll go to sleep.’
John remained on his knees, he did not know how long. He was still there when the nurse came in from her sleep.
‘I hope you have not been talking to her, or crying, to excite her.’
‘She spoke to me a little; it was not my fault. I found her with her eyes wide open, and, when she saw me, she spoke.’
‘You ought not to have let her. This is always the way when one of the relations interferes. How is one to do one’s nursing, when relations interfere? There should have been another to take the night duty, and no amateurs here.’