Consideration for poor Lady Verinder forbade me even to hint that I had
guessed the melancholy truth, before she opened her lips. I waited
her pleasure in silence; and, having privately arranged to say a few
sustaining words at the first convenient opportunity, felt prepared for
any duty that could claim me, no matter how painful it might be.
"I have been seriously ill, Drusilla, for some time past," my aunt
began. "And, strange to say, without knowing it myself."
I thought of the thousands and thousands of perishing human creatures
who were all at that moment spiritually ill, without knowing it
themselves. And I greatly feared that my poor aunt might be one of the
number. "Yes, dear," I said, sadly. "Yes."
"I brought Rachel to London, as you know, for medical advice," she went
on. "I thought it right to consult two doctors."
Two doctors! And, oh me (in Rachel's state), not one clergyman! "Yes,
dear?" I said once more. "Yes?"
"One of the two medical men," proceeded my aunt, "was a stranger to me.
The other had been an old friend of my husband's, and had always felt
a sincere interest in me for my husband's sake. After prescribing for
Rachel, he said he wished to speak to me privately in another room.
I expected, of course, to receive some special directions for the
management of my daughter's health. To my surprise, he took me gravely
by the hand, and said, 'I have been looking at you, Lady Verinder, with
a professional as well as a personal interest. You are, I am afraid, far
more urgently in need of medical advice than your daughter.' He put some
questions to me, which I was at first inclined to treat lightly enough,
until I observed that my answers distressed him. It ended in his making
an appointment to come and see me, accompanied by a medical friend, on
the next day, at an hour when Rachel would not be at home. The result
of that visit--most kindly and gently conveyed to me--satisfied both the
physicians that there had been precious time lost, which could never be
regained, and that my case had now passed beyond the reach of their art.
For more than two years I have been suffering under an insidious form of
heart disease, which, without any symptoms to alarm me, has, by little
and little, fatally broken me down. I may live for some months, or I may
die before another day has passed over my head--the doctors cannot, and
dare not, speak more positively than this. It would be vain to say, my
dear, that I have not had some miserable moments since my real situation
has been made known to me. But I am more resigned than I was, and I am
doing my best to set my worldly affairs in order. My one great anxiety
is that Rachel should be kept in ignorance of the truth. If she knew
it, she would at once attribute my broken health to anxiety about the
Diamond, and would reproach herself bitterly, poor child, for what is in
no sense her fault. Both the doctors agree that the mischief began
two, if not three years since. I am sure you will keep my secret,
Drusilla--for I am sure I see sincere sorrow and sympathy for me in your
face."