But Fanny kept her thoughts to herself, and while she is making her way to
Frankfort, we will precede her and see what is taking place in the sick
room. The large drops of sweat which stood upon Mr. Wilmot's high, white
forehead, showed that the hour of dissolution was at hand. His mind was
wandering, but still the burden of his soul was, "Julia, Julia, oh, will
she not come?" Mr. Miller stood by him and endeavored as far as possible
to quiet him, and once, during a lucid interval, he asked, "If Julia does
not come, what shall I tell her when I see her?"
Mr. Wilmot's eyes opened wide and for a moment he looked wistfully at his
friend, and then said mournfully, "I cannot see you, Joseph, my vision has
departed forever, and if Julia comes, I cannot now look on her loved
features, but if I die ere she arrives, ask her if she wrote that letter."
Just then there was a noise without, and the sound of horses' feet was
heard coming up the graveled walk. Some one in the room whispered, "It
must be Miss Middleton." The sound caught the dying man's ear and he
wildly exclaimed, "Has she come? Oh! Has she come?" Fanny was now heard
speaking in the hall. We have said that her voice was strangely like her
sister's, so it was no wonder that Mr. Wilmot, in his feverish delirium,
mistook it. Clasping his hands together, he exclaimed, "Thank God she has
come! She has come!"
The excitement was too much for him and for a few moments he was
unconscious. When at last animation was restored, Fanny was hanging over
his pillow, and Fanny's tears were upon his cheek; but he thought it was
Julia, and drawing her to him, he imprinted a burning kiss upon her fair
brow, saying, "God bless you for coming, precious Julia, I knew you would
come; and now tell me, do you not love me as well as you always have?"
Fanny was bewildered, and looked imploringly at Mr. Miller, who said,
"Richard, do you think it is Julia who is standing by you now?" The sick
man gave a startled look and almost shrieked out, "Julia? Yes, is it not
Julia? Speak quick and tell me, isn't Julia here?" Mr. Miller's eyes
filled with tears as he answered sadly, "No, Richard, Julia is not here;
it is Fanny who has come." A deathly paleness passed over Mr. Wilmot's
face and a paroxysm of delirium ensued more violent than any which had
preceded it. At last it partially passed off and he became comparatively
calm, but still persisted in thinking it was Julia whose hand he held in
his and whose breath was upon his cheek. "Heaven bless you for coming,
beloved one," he would say, "I knew you would come, and still the dreadful
thought has haunted me, that you might be false, for that was a cruel
letter; but you did not write it, did you?"