“Well, little Miss Literal, I see you are ‘she who must be obeyed,’ so I’ll take it. Though I can’t imagine why I need anything else when I have these two youngsters to look at.”
Meg turned to Robert and said, “Delia isn’t the only descendant of Brian Boru in these parts, you see.” There was a little laugh at her remark, but it was only half-hearted, for both Robert and she were too much grieved at the change in Charlie to enjoy any joke.
He tried to be gay and natural, but after each effort he sank back among the pillows exhausted. As he laid there, a light of exquisite enjoyment came over his features, for the strains of the piano floated up from below.
Ada was playing something in a minor key, and the strange, sweet notes were so in harmony with the sadness of the occasion, that Meg was obliged to rise suddenly and go to the window, that Charlie might not see the tears in her eyes.
There was no sound in the room till the notes died away, and then turning to Robert, Charlie said: “Did you ever hear anything like that? Her music is an indication of her soul.”
Just then Ada came noiselessly into the room, and going over to the bed, asked gayly of her husband: “Did you like that piece? I think I will play it at the recital next week.”
“I would,” he replied, without a break in his voice, looking at her adoringly; and then, to Robert and Meg, who had exchanged glances, and were preparing to leave: “Must you go now? You will come again, won’t you?—Come soon—” he added, in a voice he tried to make expressionless.
After they were outside Meg could contain her grief no longer, and began to sob. “Oh, can’t you see that he is dying?” she asked.
“I fear so,” was the grave rejoinder.
“And after he is gone, some one will have to shake that woman and say, ‘Wake up,—Charlie is dead!’”