Part 17 (1/2)
”I know--I know; I feel for you all that you are feeling. Twenty times this night I have wished--forgive me the thought--that you were my sister, so that I might express my sympathy more freely and comfort you.”
”Tell me the truth, then, why I am kept away. If you can show me sufficient cause, I will be reasonable and obey; but do not say again I should be disturbing him, for it is not true.”
”He is too ill for you to see him--his symptoms are too painful. In fact, it would not be proper; and were you to go in in defiance of advice, you would regret it all your after life.”
”Is he dying?”
Mr. Carlyle hesitated. Ought he to dissemble with her as the doctors had done? A strong feeling was upon him that he ought not.
”I trust to you not to deceive me,” she simply said.
”I fear he is--I believe he is.”
She rose up--she grasped his arm in the sudden fear that flashed over her.
”You are deceiving me, and he is dead!”
”I am not deceiving you, Lady Isabel. He is not dead, but--it may be very near.”
She laid her face down upon the soft pillow.
”Going forever from me--going forever? Oh, Mr. Carlyle, let me see him for a minute--just one farewell! Will you not try for me!”
He knew how hopeless it was, but he turned to leave the room.
”I will go and see. But you will remain here quietly--you will not come.”
She bowed her head in acquiescence, and he closed the door. Had she indeed been his sister, he would probably have turned the key upon her.
He entered the earl's chamber, but not many seconds did he remain in it.
”It is over,” he whispered to Mrs. Mason, whom he met in the corridor, ”and Mr. Wainwright is asking for you.”
”You are soon back,” cried Isabel, lifting her head. ”May I go?”
He sat down and took her hand, shrinking from his task.
”I wish I could comfort you!” he exclaimed, in a tone of deep emotion.
Her face turned of a ghastly whiteness--as white as another's not far away.
”Tell me the worst,” she breathed.
”I have nothing to tell you but the worst. May G.o.d support you, dear Lady Isabel!”
She turned to hide her face and its misery away from him, and a low wail of anguish broke from her, telling its own tale of despair.
The gray dawn of morning was breaking over the world, advent of another bustling day in life's history; but the spirit of William Vane, Earl of Mount Severn, had soared away from it forever.