"What is it?" he said, with his own face become about as pale as hers.
"Judith is very ill," was the answer.
"Yes, yes," he said eagerly, "and that she was when I left. But now that her father is come, 'twill be all different—'twill be all set right now. And you will tell her, then, if I may not? Nay, but may not I see her for a moment—but for a moment—to say how her father is come all the way to see her—ay, and hath a store of trinkets for her—and is come to comfort her into the assurance that all will go well? Why, will not such a message cheer her?"
"Good Master Quiney," Susan said, with tears welling into her eyes, "if you were to see her she would not know you—she knows no one—she knows not that she is ill—but speaks of herself as some other——"
"But her father!" he exclaimed, in dismay, "will she not know him? Will she not understand? Nay, surely 'tis not yet too late!"
But here Doctor Hall appeared; and when he was told that Judith's father was come to the town, and would shortly be at the cottage, he merely said that perhaps his presence might soothe her somewhat, or even lead her delirious wanderings into a gentler channel, but that she would almost certainly be unable to recognize him. Nor was the fever yet at its height, he said, and they could do but little for her. They could but wait and hope. As for Quiney, he did not ask to be admitted to the room. He seemed stunned. He sat down in the kitchen, heeding no one, and vaguely wondering whether any lengthening of the stages of the journey would have brought them better in time. Nay, had he not wasted precious hours in London in vainly seeking to find himself face to face with Jack Orridge!
Prudence chanced to come down-stairs. As he entered the kitchen he forgot to give her any greeting; he only said, quickly,
"Think you she will not understand that her father is come to see her? Surely she must understand so much, Prudence! You will tell her, will you not? and ask her if she sees him standing before her?"
"I know not—I am afraid," said Prudence, anxiously. "Perchance it may frighten her the more; forever she says that she sees him, and always with an angry face toward her; and she is for hiding herself away from him—and even talking of the river! Good lack, 'tis pitiful that she should be so struck down—and almost at death's door—and all we can do of so little avail."
"Prudence," said he, starting to his feet, "there is her father just come; I hear him; now take him to her—and you will see—you will see. I may not go—a strange face might frighten her—but I know she will recognize him—and understand—and he will tell her to have no longer any fear of him——"