“Isabel,” he said, taking her by the hand, “Isabel, I have come again, as I told you that I would.”
She could not take her hand from him, nor could she say a word to him in her accustomed manner. As he looked down upon her, she felt that she had already yielded, when suddenly the door was opened, and one of the girls hurried into the room.
“Isabel,” said her sister, “here is a telegram for you, just come from Carmarthen.”
Of course she opened it instantly with perturbed haste and quivering fingers. The telegram was as follows:—“Your uncle is very ill, very ill indeed, and wishes you to come back quite immediately.” The telegram was not from her Cousin Henry, but from the doctor.
There was no time then either for giving love or for refusing it. The paper was handed to her lover to read, and then she rushed out of the room as though the train which was to carry her would start instantly.
“You will let me write to you by-and-by?” said Mr. Owen as she left him; but she made no answer to him as she rushed out of the room; nor would she make any answer to any of the others as they expressed either hope or consolation. When was the next train? When should she reach Carmarthen? When would she once more be at the old man’s bedside? In the course of the afternoon she did leave Hereford, and at about ten o’clock that night she was at Carmarthen. Someone concerned had looked into this matter of the trains, and there at the station was a fly ready to take her to Llanfeare. Before eleven her uncle’s hand was in hers, as she stood by his bedside.
Her Cousin Henry was in the room, and so was the housekeeper who had been with him constantly almost ever since she had left him. She had seen at once by the manner of the old servants as she entered the house, from the woeful face of the butler, and from the presence of the cook, who had lived in the family for the last twenty years, that something terrible was expected. It was not thus that she would have been received had not the danger been imminent.
“Dr. Powell says, Miss Isabel, that you are to be told that he will be here quite early in the morning.”
This coming from the cook, told her that her uncle was expected to live that night, but that no more was expected.
“Uncle Indefer,” she said, “how is it with you? Uncle Indefer, speak to me!” He moved his head a little upon the pillow; he turned his face somewhat towards hers; there was some slight return to the grasp of her hand; there was a gleam of loving brightness left in his eye; but he could not then speak a word. When, after an hour, she left his room for a few minutes to get rid of her travelling clothes, and to prepare herself for watching by him through the night, the housekeeper, whom Isabel had known ever since she had been at Llanfeare, declared that in her opinion her uncle would never speak again.
“The doctor, Miss Isabel, thought so, when he left us.”
She hurried down, and at once occupied the place which the old woman had filled for the last three days and nights. Before long she had banished the woman, so that to her might belong the luxury of doing anything, if aught could be done. That her cousin should be there was altogether unnecessary. If the old man could know anyone at his deathbed, he certainly would not wish to see the heir whom he had chosen.
“You must go—you must indeed,” said Isabel.
Then the cousin went, and so at last, with some persuasion, did the housekeeper.
She sat there hour after hour, with her hand lying gently upon his. When she would move it for a moment, though it was to moisten his lips, he would give some sign of impatience. For hours he lay in that way, till the early dawn of the summer morning broke into the room through the chink of the shutters. Then there came from him some sign of a stronger life, and at last, with a low muttered voice, indistinct, but not so indistinct but that the sounds were caught, he whispered a word or two.
“It is all right. It is done.”
Soon afterwards she rang the bell violently, and when the nurse entered the room she declared that her old master was no more. When the doctor arrived at seven, having ridden out from Carmarthen, there was nothing for him further to do but to give a certificate as to the manner of death of Indefer Jones, Esq., late of Llanfeare, in the county of Carmarthen.
V
Preparing for the Funeral
Isabel, when she was left alone, felt that a terrible weight of duty was imposed on her. She seemed to be immediately encompassed by a double world of circumstances. There was that world of grief which was so natural, but which would yet be easy, could she only be allowed to sit down and weep. But it was explained to her that until after the funeral, and till the will should have been read, everything about Llanfeare must be done by her and in obedience to her orders. This necessity of action—of action which in her present condition of mind did not seem clear to her—was not at all easy.
The doctor was good to her, and gave her some instruction before he left her. “Shall I give the keys to
