"No. But she can't know what she is saying, can she? Poor girl! she will never do another stitch." Mrs. Latimer fairly broke down. The unfinished embroidery which never could be finished brought the truth home to her. It is hard to realize that a life with its interlacing roots and fibres is broken off short.
"Oh, Mrs. Latimer, don't! don't!" Harry exclaimed, aghast at her tears. "For dear Mrs. Middleton's sake!" He rushed away, and returned with wine. "If you give way what will become of us?"
She was better in a few minutes, and able to go back, while Harry waited in quiet confidence for Mrs. Middleton. He was not afraid of a burst of helpless weeping when she came. She was gentle, yielding, delicate, but there was something of the old squire's obstinacy in her, and in a supreme emergency it came out as firmness. She looked old and frail as she stepped into the passage and closed the door after her. Her hand shook, but her eyes met his bravely and her lips were firm.
"You'll have some wine too," he said, pouring it out as a matter of course. "You can drink it while you tell me what I am to do."
She took the glass with a slight inclination of her head, and explained that she wanted an old servant who had been Sissy's nurse when she was a little child. "Mrs. Latimer is very kind," she said, "but Sissy will like her own people best. And Sarah would be broken-hearted—" She paused. "Here is a list of things that I wish her to bring."
"Mrs. Latimer thought Miss Langton was not quite herself," he said inquiringly.
"Do you mean because she talked of her work? Oh, I don't think so. She answers quite sensibly—indeed, she speaks quite clearly. That was the only thing."
"Then is it down in the list, this needlework? Or where is it to be found?"
"You will bring it?" said Mrs. Middleton. "Well, perhaps—"
"If she should ask again," he said.