This act of thoughtfulness touched me. I wondered who had packed the basket: there was the wing of a chicken, some delicate slices of tongue, a roll, and some jelly. A little note lay at the bottom:
Giles has asked me to provide a tempting luncheon: he says you have had a sad night with poor Miss Locke, and are looking very tired. Poor Ursula! you are spending all your strength on other people.
In another half-hour I shall leave Gladwyn. I think I am glad to go, things are so miserable here, and one loses patience sometimes. I wish I could know poor Susan Locke's fate before I go; but Giles seems to have little hope. Take care of yourself for my sake, Ursula. I have grown to love you very dearly.
—Your affectionate friend,
Gladys.
Mr. Hamilton came again early in the evening, and I took the opportunity of paying Phoebe another visit.
She was lying with her eyes closed, and looked very ill and exhausted,—alarmingly so, I thought: her emotion had nearly spent itself, and she was now passive and waiting for the worst.
'Let me know when it happens,' she whispered. 'I have no hope now, but I will try and bear it.' And she drew my hands to her lips and kissed them: 'they have touched Susan, they are doing my work, they are blessed hands to me.' And then she seemed unable to bear more.
When Mr. Hamilton paid his final visit he announced his intention of remaining in the house. 'There will be a change one way or another before long, and I shall not leave you by yourself to-night,' he said quietly; and in my heart I was not sorry to hear this. He told me that there was a good fire downstairs, and that he meant to take possession of a very comfortable arm-chair, but that he wanted to remain in the sick-room for half an hour or so.
I fancied that his professional eyes had already detected some change. Presently he walked away to the fireplace and stood looking down into the flames in rather an absent way.