Part 27 (1/2)
”Ah!” said Graham lightly; ”you ladies change your minds so rapidly that it is difficult to follow you. But it is your privilege, I know, Farewell, then, Miss Warrington. Life is long,--we may meet again.”
”Good-bye, Mr. Marr,” said Sibyl, hardly noticing his departure.
As the young man disappeared, Aunt Faith spoke; ”Are you in earnest, Sibyl? Do you really wish to visit Mr. Leslie to-night?”
”I am in earnest, and I _must_ go, Aunt Faith. Do not try to prevent it.”
”But there may be danger for you, dear.”
”Hugh has seen him, and am I to be kept back?” cried Sibyl pa.s.sionately. ”I must go! I will go! Aunt Faith, do not desert me now!”
”I am not deserting you, poor child,” said Aunt Faith, rising and putting her arms around her niece with motherly affection. ”If you wish to see Mr. Leslie to-night, I will go with you. You approve of your sister's wish, Hugh?”
”Yes,” said Hugh decidedly. ”Sibyl, you are right at last.”
They found Mr. Leslie unconscious and breathing heavily; two physicians were in attendance, and a nurse sat by the bedside.
”He does not know me,” whispered Sibyl, clinging convulsively to Aunt Faith, as the sufferer opened his eyes and looked blankly at them.
”No, dear, he is unconscious,” replied Aunt Faith, herself much moved at the sight of one whom she had so lately seen full of young life, stricken down almost to death.
The doctors were watching their patient closely; they expected a crisis before morning.
”I shall stay,” said Sibyl, quietly taking off her hat and sitting down on the sofa.
Aunt Faith spoke a few words of objection, but the mute appeal of Sibyl's eyes silenced her; she said no more, but sitting down by her niece, took her cold hand and held it in both her own. She had felt sorrow herself, and she could feel for others; she knew that in Sibyl's heart the depths were broken up.
Hugh went back to the old stone house and returned about midnight; from that time on, there was silence in the sick-chamber, and anxious eyes watched the unconscious face with painful interest. The night seemed endless; only those who have watched by a sick bed can know how minutes can lengthen themselves! As the gray twilight of dawn came into the room the sick man moved restlessly upon his pillow and moaned. Sibyl's heart throbbed; any change seemed for the better. But one of the physicians after bending over the patient, shook his head gravely.
”Let us pray,” said Aunt Faith in a low tone, and, falling upon her knees, she bowed her head in silent prayer. Sibyl knelt beside her, and, after a moment, Hugh too joined them, and throwing his arm around his sister, drew her to his side.
”Oh, Hugh, I cannot bear it!” she murmured; ”he will die,--he will never know,--and I--” here her voice was broken by stifled sobs and low moans of anguish, strangely touching in the proud, self-reliant Sibyl.
Hugh held his sister in his arms, and soothed her as one would soothe a child. From that hour Sibyl's coldness left her never to return.
As the first sunbeams brightened the sky, Mr. Leslie again opened his eyes, the doctors bent over him, and it seemed to Aunt Faith as if she could hear all the hearts in the room throbbing aloud in the intense anxiety of the moment.
”The worst is over,” whispered Doctor Gregory, stepping back and shaking hands with Aunt Faith; ”we shall bring him through, now, I think.”
Sibyl sat with her head hidden on Hugh's shoulder; she heard the doctor's words, but a sudden timidity had come over her. ”Let us go,”
she whispered, turning towards the door.
But Hugh had been watching the sick man.
”He is conscious; he knows us!” he said suddenly, and leading his sister forward, he left her at the bedside, pale and trembling with joyful emotion.
”Sibyl,” said Mr. Leslie in a faint voice, ”is it you? Have you come to me at last, dear?”
”Yes, John,” said Sibyl, bending over him with tears in her eyes. ”I have brought myself and my life to you,--if you care for them.”