They knocked very gently at the door, on which Arthur's name was written, and it was opened by Fanny Bolton.
CHAPTER XIV.
A CRITICAL CHAPTER.
As Fanny saw the two ladies and the anxious countenance of the elder, who regarded her with a look of inscrutable alarm and terror, the poor girl at once knew that Pen's mother was before her; there was a resemblance between the widow's haggard eyes and Arthur's as he tossed in his bed in fever. Fanny looked wistfully at Mrs. Pendennis and at Laura afterward; there was no more expression in the latter's face than if it had been a mass of stone. Hard-heartedness and gloom dwelt on the figures of both the new comers; neither showed any the faintest gleam of mercy or sympathy for Fanny. She looked desperately from them to the major behind them. Old Pendennis dropped his eyelids, looking up ever so stealthily from under them at Arthur's poor little nurse.
[Illustration]
"I—I wrote to you yesterday, if you please, ma'am," Fanny said, trembling in every limb as she spoke; and as pale as Laura, whose sad menacing face looked over Mrs. Pendennis's shoulder.
"Did you, madam?" Mrs. Pendennis said, "I suppose I may now relieve you from nursing my son. I am his mother, you understand."
"Yes, ma'am. I—this is the way to his—O, wait a minute," cried out
Fanny. "I must prepare you for his—"
The widow, whose face had been hopelessly cruel and ruthless, here started back with a gasp and a little cry, which she speedily stifled. "He's been so since yesterday," Fanny said, trembling very much, and with chattering teeth.
A horrid shriek of laughter came out of Pen's room, whereof the door was open; and, after several shouts, the poor wretch began to sing a college drinking song, and then to hurra and to shout as if he was in the midst of a wine party, and to thump with his fist against the wainscot. He was quite delirious.