"Take care of yourself for my sake," he said, as he kissed and blessed her; but she made no answer when he left her. She paced up and down the room restlessly. Movement—that was her sole relief; and bodily fatigue—that would make her sleep. Once she pressed her face against the window and looked out at the darkness. "Mollie is dying," she said to herself, "and perhaps the dear Lord will let me die, too;" and then she smiled at the thought, and resumed her pacing to and fro in the firelight.
As Everard stumbled out of the room, Althea opened the door of the library and beckoned to him. She had no need to ask him any question; one glance at his face was enough. "Mr. Ward," she said, in her soft voice, "I cannot let you go like this. Sit down by the fire, and I will give you a nice hot cup of coffee. You always liked coffee better than tea, I remember."
"You are very good," he returned, in a hesitating voice. "But I am anxious to get back to my poor child. Dr. Duncan will be coming at six, and Ingram will be round for news."
"Oh, I would not keep you for worlds," replied Althea, gently. "But you must drink this first; and there is no need to drink it standing." And then, with a half-smile, Everard yielded. The beautiful room, the soft lamplight, the quiet face and kindly ministering hands of his old friend, gave him a sudden feeling of warmth and repose. He felt like a tired child brought out of the cold and darkness. As he drank his coffee, the numb, strained feeling gave way.
"Miss Harford," he said, suddenly, "it makes me miserable to see Waveney."
"Ah!" she returned, quickly, "I was afraid you would say that. But the poor child is not herself. She is stunned with trouble. When we talk to her, she does not seem to hear what we say. Doreen spoke to her a little sharply, to-day," she went on. "She did it to rouse her; but, of course, I told her that it would be useless. When she had finished, Waveney merely looked at her, and then went out of the room. And Doreen was so afraid she had hurt her that she followed her to say something kind. Waveney seemed quite astonished. 'You have not hurt me, oh, no!' she said. 'It is I who am rude, for I did not hear half you said. When I try to listen, my head pains me, and I get confused. But I think nothing hurts me.'"
Everard sighed. "What are we to do with her?" he asked, in a despairing voice.
"Dear Mr. Ward," returned Althea, in her flute-like voice, "we can do nothing but love her, and pray for her. She and her dear Mollie, too, are in God's hands—not ours. Try to trust them both to Him." And then Everard looked gratefully in her face.
"She is a sweet woman," he said to himself, as he walked towards the station. "I wonder why she has never married?" But no suspicion of the truth entered his mind.
Moritz used to send Noel up to the Red House nearly every day. But he never came himself. He spent most of his time at Number Ten, Cleveland Terrace.