The lady and her husband alighted, and sending up their cards, begged to see the mourner.
The message was delivered; but Delmé, without comment or enquiry, at once declined the offer; and it was thought better not to persist. They were too deeply interested, however, not to attempt to be of use. They saw Carl and Thompson,--satisfied themselves that Sir Henry was in friendly hands; and thanking the student with warmth and sincerity, for his attention to the sufferer, exacted a promise, that he would not leave him, as long as he could in any way be useful.
The husband and wife prepared to continue their journey; but not before the former had left his address in Florence, with directions to Carl to write immediately, in case he required the assistance of a friend; and the latter had written a long letter to Mrs. Glenallan, in which she broke as delicately as she could, the melancholy and unlooked-for tidings.
Chapter XII
The Letter.
"And from a foreign shore
Well to that heart might hers these absent greetings pour."
Three weeks had elapsed since George's death.
It would be difficult to depict satisfactorily, the state of Sir Henry Delmé's mind during that period. The pride of life appeared crushed within him. He rarely took exercise, and when he did, his step was slow, and his gait tottering.
That one terrible loss was ever present to his mind; and yet his imagination, as if disconnected with his feelings, or his memory, was constantly running riot over varying scenes of death, and conjuring up revolting pictures of putrescence and decay.
A black pall, and an odour of corruption, seemed to commingle with each quick-springing fantasy; and Delmé would start with affright from his own morbid conceptions, as he found himself involuntarily dwelling on the waxen rigidity of death,--following the white worm in its unseemly wanderings,--and finally stripping the frail and disgusting coat from the disjointed skeleton.