Sure by this time that she was talking too much, Rachel was glad to hear
that Mr. Harvey was come. He was a friendly, elderly man, who knew them
all intimately, having attended Alick through his tedious recovery, and
his first measure was to clear the room. Rachel thought that "at her
age" he might have accepted her services, rather than her maid's, but
she suspected Alick of instigating her exclusion, so eagerly did he
pounce on her to make her eat, drink, and lie on the sofa, and so
supremely scornful was he of her views of sitting up, a measure which
might be the more needful for want of a bed.
On the whole, however, he was satisfied about her; alarm and excitement
had restrung her powers, and she knew herself to have done her part, so
that she was ready to be both cheerful and important over the evening
meal. Mr. Clare was by no means annoyed at this vicissitude, but rather
amused at it, and specially diverted at the thought of what would be Mr.
Lifford's consternation. Lord Keith's servant had come over, reporting
his master to be a good deal worn out by the afternoon's anxiety, and
recommending that he should not be again disturbed that night, so he
was off their minds, and the only drawback to the pleasantness of the
evening was surprise at seeing and hearing nothing from Mr. Harvey. The
London doctor arrived, he met him and took him up-stairs at once; and
then ensued a long stillness, all attempts at conversation died away,
and Alick only now and then made attempts to send his companions to
bed. Mr. Clare went out to the hall to listen, or Rachel stole up to the
extemporary nursery to consult Nurse Jones, whom she found very gruff at
having been turned out in favour of the stranger maid.
It was a strange time of suspense. Alick made Rachel lie on the sofa,
and she almost heard the beating of her own heart; he sat by her, trying
to seem to read, and his uncle stood by the open window, where the
tinkle of a sheep bell came softly in from the meadows, and now and then
the hoot of the owl round the church tower made the watchers start. To
watch that calm and earnest face was their great help in that hour of
alarm; those sightless eyes, and broad, upraised spiritual brow seemed
so replete with steadfast trust and peace, that the very sight was
soothing and supporting to the young husband and wife, and when the long
strokes of twelve resounded from the church tower, Mr. Clare, turning
towards them, began in his full, musical voice to repeat Bishop Ken's
noble midnight hymn-"My God, now I from sleep awake,
The sole possession of me take;
From midnight terrors me secure,
And guard my soul from thoughts impure."