To Rachel, who had so often heard that hour strike amid a tumult of
midnight miseries, there was something in these words inexpressibly
gentle and soothing; the tears sprang into her eyes, as if she had found
the spell to chase the grisly phantoms, and she clasped her husband's
hand, as though to communicate her comfort.
"Oh may I always ready stand,
With my lamp burning in my hand;
May I in sight of Heaven rejoice,
Whene'er I hear the Bridegroom's voice."
Mr. Clare had just repeated this verse, when he paused, saying, "They
are coming down," and moved quickly to meet them in the hall. Alick
followed him to the door, but as they entered the dining-room, after a
moment's hesitation, returned to Rachel, as she sat upright and eager.
"After all, this may mean nothing," he said.
"Oh, we don't make it better by fancying it nothing," said Rachel. "Let
us try to meet it like your uncle. Oh, Alick, it seemed all this time as
if I could pray again, as I never could since those sad times. He seemed
so sure, such a rock to help and lean on."
He drew her close to him. "You are praying for her!" he murmured,
his soul so much absorbed in his sister that he could not admit other
thoughts, and still they waited and watched till other sounds were
heard. The London doctor was going away. Alick sprang to the door, and
opened it as his uncle's hand was on the lock. There was a mournful,
solemn expression on his face, as they gazed mutely up in expectation.
"Children," he said, "it is as we feared. This great sorrow is coming on
us."
"Then there is danger," said Alick with stunned calmness.
"More than danger," said his uncle, "they have tried all that skill can
do."
"Was it the fall?" said Alick.
"It was my bad management, it always is," said Rachel, ever affirmative.
"No, dear child," said Mr. Clare, "there was fatal injury in the fall,
and even absolute stillness for the last few hours could hardly have
saved her. You have nothing to reproach yourself with."
"And now!" asked Alick, hoarsely.
"Much more exhausted than when we were with her; sometimes faint, but
still feverish. They think it may last many hours yet, poor dear child,
she has so much youth and strength."
"Does she know?"
"Harvey thought some of their measures alarmed her, but they soothed
and encouraged her while they saw hope, and he thinks she has no real
fears."
"And how is it to be--" said Alick. "She ought--"
"Yes; Harvey thinks she ought, she is fully herself, and it can make no
difference now. He is gone to judge about coming up at once; but Alick,
my poor boy, you must speak to her. I have found that without seeing the
face I cannot judge what my words may be doing."