Stephen's face betrayed the amazement he felt, for Benson said:
“Does it seem so singular a request to you?”
“Why, no, Uncle Jake,” faltered the young fellow.
“But you think she'll not come?” then a look came into his face that Stephen did not understand. “I must see her, Stephen—now, before it is too late; will you go for her?”
“If you wish it—yes,” said Stephen, but his heart sank. What if Virginia would refuse, what if he would have to return without her! But perhaps after all this was only some vagary on the part of the sick man; perhaps his mood would have changed by the time he got back—if he went at all.
“Tell her it's an act of charity to a sick man.”
“I think she will come if she thinks you really wish to see her,” said Stephen doubtfully.
“Will you go for her at once?” asked Benson eagerly. “Have Gibbs order the carriage. I want you to go. Perhaps you can say something that will bring her.” In his interest and excitement he had half-risen from his pillow; now he sank back weakly. “Bring her if you can,” he ended abruptly.
But when Stephen was gone, he had Gibbs station himself by the window, and instructed him to announce when he heard or saw the returning carriage. It was already twilight, and the darkness deepened as the general watched by the window. A half, three-quarters, of an hour passed.
“She won't come!” muttered Benson. The light darkened in his grey eyes; but even as he spoke, Gibbs called out that he heard the carriage wheels on the drive.