'Esther is of no use.'
'And therefore I do not like to leave her so long alone with Jane. Pray spare me a little smile.'
'Then come back soon.'
Lily was glad to escape with no more objections. She found Jane complaining of thirst, but to swallow gave her great pain, and she required so much attendance for some little time, that Emily's bell was twice rung before Esther could be spared to go to her.
She soon came back, saying, 'Miss Mohun wants you directly, Miss Lilias.'
'Tell her I will come presently,' said Lily, who had one hand pressed on Jane's burning temples, while the other was sprinkling her with ether.
'Stay,' said Jane, faintly, and Esther left the room.
Jane drew her breath with so much difficulty that a dreadful terror seized upon Lily, lest she should be suffocated. She raised her head, and supported her till Esther could bring more pillows. Esther brought a message from Emily to hasten her return; but Jane could not be left, and the grateful look she gave her as she arranged the pillows repaid her for all her toils. After a little time Jane became more comfortable, and said in a whisper, 'Dear Lily, I wish I was not so troublesome.'
Back came Esther at this moment, saying, 'Miss Emily says she is worse, and wants you directly, Miss Lilias.'
Lily hurried away to Emily's room, and found what might well have tried her temper. Emily was flushed indeed, and feverish, but her breathing was smooth and even, and her hand and pulse cool and slow, compared with the parched burning hands, and throbbings, too quick to count, which Lily had just been watching.
'Well, my dear Emily, I am sorry you do not feel better; what can I do for you?'
'How can I be better while I am left so long, and Esther not coming when I ring? What would happen if I were to faint away?'
'Indeed, I am very sorry,' said Lily; 'but when you rang, poor Jenny could spare neither of us.'
'How is poor Jenny?' said Emily.
'Her throat is very bad, but she is quite sensible now, and wishes to have me there. What did you want, Emily?'
'Oh! I wish you would draw the curtain, the light hurts me; that will do-no-now it is worse, pray put it as it was before. Oh! Lily, if you knew how ill I am you would not leave me.'
'Can I do anything for you-will you have some coffee?'
'Oh! no, it has a bad taste, I am sure it is carelessly made.'
'Shall I make you some fresh, with the spirit lamp?'
'No, I am tired of it. I wonder if I might have some tamarinds?'
'I will ask as soon as papa comes from church.'
'Is he gone to church? how could he go when we are all so ill?'
'Perhaps he was doing us more good at church than he could at home. You will be glad to hear, Emily, that he has sent for Rachel to come and help us.'
'Oh! has he? but she lives so far off, and gets her letters so seldom, I don't reckon at all upon her coming. If she could come directly it would be a comfort.'
'It would, indeed,' said Lily; 'she would know what to do for Jane.'
'Lily, where is the ether? You are always taking it away.'
'In Jane's room; I will fetch it.'
'No, no, if you once get into Jane's room I shall never see you back again.'
Now Emily knew that Jane was very ill, and Lily's pale cheeks, heavy eyes, and failing voice, might have reminded her that two sick persons were a heavy charge upon a girl of seventeen, without the addition of her caprices and fretfulness. And how was it that the kind-hearted, affectionate Emily never thought of all this? It was because she had been giving way to selfishness for nineteen years; and now the contemplation of her own sufferings was quite enough to hide from her that others had much to bear; and illness, instead of teaching her patience and consideration, only made her more exacting and querulous.
To Lily's unspeakable relief, Miss Weston accompanied Mr. Mohun from church, and offered to share her attendance. No one knew what it cost Alethea to come into the midst of a scene which constantly reminded her of the sisters she had lost, but she did not shrink from it, and was glad that her parents saw no objection to her offering to share Lily's toils. Her experience was most valuable, and relieved Lilias of the fear that was continually haunting her, lest her ignorance might lead to some fatal mistake. The next day brought Rachel, and both patients began to mend. Jane's recovery was quicker than Emily's, for her constitution was not so languid, and having no pleasure in the importance of being an invalid, she was willing to exert herself, and make the best of everything, while Emily did not much like to be told that she was better, and thought it cruel to hint that exertion would benefit her. Both were convalescent before the fever attacked Lily, who was severely ill, but not alarmingly so, and her gentleness and patience made Alethea delight in having the care of her. Lily was full of gratitude to her kind friend, and felt quite happy when Alethea chanced one day to call her by the name of Emma; she almost hoped she was taking the place of that sister, and the thought cheered her through many languid hours, and gave double value to all Alethea's kindness. She did not feel disposed to repine at an illness which brought out such affection from her friend, and still more from her father, who, when he came to see her, would say things which gave her a thrill of pleasure whenever she thought of them.
It happened one day that Jane, having finished her book, looked round for some other occupation; she knew that Miss Weston had walked to Broomhill; Rachael was with Lilias, and there was no amusement at hand. At last she recollected that her papa had said in the morning, that he hoped to see her and Emily in the schoolroom in the course of the day, and hoping to meet her sister, she resolved to try and get there. The room had been Mr. Mohun's sitting-room since the beginning of their illness, and it looked so very comfortable that she was glad she had come, though she was so tired she wondered how she should get back again. Emily was not there, so she lay down on the sofa and took up a little book from the table. The title was Susan Harvey, or Confirmation, and she read it with more interest as she remembered with a pang that this was the day of the confirmation, to which she had been invited; she soon found herself shedding tears over the book, she who had never yet been known to cry at any story, however affecting. She had not finished when Mr. Devereux came in to look for Mr. Mohun, and finding her there, was going away as soon as he had congratulated her on having left her room, but she begged him to stay, and began asking questions about the confirmation.
'Were there many people?'
'Three hundred.'
'Did the Stoney Bridge people make a disturbance?'
'No.'
'How many of our people?'
'Twenty-seven.'
'Did all the girls wear caps?'
'Most of them.'
Jane was rather surprised at the shortness of her cousin's answers, but she went on, as he stood before the fire, apparently in deep thought.
'Was Miss Burnet confirmed? She is the dullest girl I ever knew, and she is older than I am. Was she confused?'
'She was.'
'Did you give Mary Wright a ticket?'
'No.'
'Then, of course, you did not give one to Ned Long. I thought you would never succeed in making him remember which is the ninth commandment.'
'I did not refuse him.'
'Indeed! did he improve in a portentous manner?'
'Not particularly.'
