Sir Rowland, meantime, throw himself on his knees beside his sister, and, clasping her chilly fingers within his own, besought her forgiveness in the most passionate terms. For a few minutes, she appeared scarcely sensible of his presence. But, after some restoratives had been administered by Mrs. Norris, she revived a little.
“Rowland,” she said, in a faint voice, “I have not many minutes to live. Where is Father Spencer? I must have absolution. I have something that weighs heavily upon my mind.”
Sir Rowland's brow darkened.
“I have sent for him,” Aliva, he answered; “he will be here directly, with your medical advisers.”
“They are useless,” she returned. “Medicine cannot save mo now.”
“Dear sister——”
“I should die happy, if I could behold my child.”
“Comfort yourself, then, Aliva. You shall behold him.”
“You are mocking me, Rowland. Jests are not for seasons like this.”
“I am not, by Heaven,” returned the knight, solemnly. “Leave us, Mrs. Norris, and do not return till Father Spencer arrives.”