Anne Hereford. Mrs. Henry Wood
wrong, I turned back and softly opened the door. The curtains were drawn closely round the bed.
"Are you worse, Selina?"
No reply came, and I feared she was worse. Perhaps lying with leeches to her throat. I had seen leeches to a throat once, and bad never forgotten the sight. At that moment the appearance of the room struck me as strange. It seemed to have been put to rights. I pulled open the curtain in full dread of the leeches.
Alas! it was not leeches I saw; but a still, white face. The face of my Aunt Selina, it is true, but--dead. I shrieked out, in my shock of terror, and flew into the arms of Sarah, who came running in.
"What is the matter?" exclaimed Charlotte Delves, flying up to the landing where we stood.
"Why, Miss Hereford has been in there; and I told her not to go!" said Sarah, hushing my face to her as she spoke. "Why couldn't you listen to me, Miss?"
"I didn't know Miss Hereford was up; she should have waited for Jemima," said Charlotte Delves, as she laid hold of me, and led me down to her parlour.
"Oh, Miss Delves, Miss Delves, what is it?" I sobbed. "Is she really dead?"
"She is dead, all too certain, my dear. But I am very sorry you should have gone in. It is just like Jemima's carelessness."
"What's that?--that's like my carelessness, Miss Delves?" resentfully inquired Jemima, who had come forward on hearing the noise.
"Why, your suffering this child to dress herself alone, and go about the house at large. One would think you might have been attentive this morning, of all others."
"I went up just before eight, and she was asleep," answered Jemima, with as pert an accent as he dared to use. "Who was to imagine she'd awake and be down so soon?"
"Why did she die? what killed her?" I asked, my sobs choking me. "Dead! dead! My Aunt Selina dead!"
"She was taken worse at eleven o'clock last night, and Mr. Lowe was sent for," explained Charlotte Delves. "He could do nothing, and she died at two."
"Where was Mr. Edwin Barley?"
"He was with her."
"Not when she was taken worse," interposed Jemima. "I was with her alone. It was my turn to sit up, and she had spoken quite cheerfully to me. Before settling myself in the arm-chair, I went to see if she had dropped asleep. My patience!--my heart went pit-a-pat at the change in her. I ran for Mr. Edwin Barley, and he came in. Mr. Lowe was sent for: everything was done, but she could not be saved."
I turned to Charlotte Delves in my sad distress. "She was so much better last night," I said, imploringly. "She was getting well."
"It was a deceitful improvement," replied Charlotte Delves--and she seemed really sad and grieved. "Lowe said he could have told us so had he been here. Mr. Edwin Barley quite flew out at him, avowing his belief that it was the medical treatment that had killed her."
"And was it?" I eagerly asked, as if, the point ascertained, it could bring her back to life. "Do they know what she died of?"
"As to knowing, I don't think any of them know too much," answered Charlotte Delves. "The doctors say the disorder, together with the shock her system had received, could not be subdued. Mr. Edwin Barley says it could have been, under a different treatment. Lowe tells me now he had little hope from the first."
"And couldn't open his lips to say so!" interposed Jemima. "It's just like those doctors. The master is dreadfully cut up."
They tried to make me take some breakfast, but I could neither eat nor drink. Jemima said they had had theirs "ages ago." None of the household had been to bed since the alarm.
"All I know is, that if blame lies anywhere it is with the doctors," observed Charlotte Delves, as she pressed me to eat. "Every direction they gave was minutely followed."
"Why did nobody fetch me down to see her?"
"Child, she never asked for you; she was past thinking of things. And to you it would only have been a painful sight."
"That's true," added Jemima. "When I looked at her, all unconcerned, I saw death in her face. It frightened me, I can tell you. I ran to call the master, thinking----"
"Thinking what?" spoke Charlotte Delves, for Jemima had made a sudden pause.
"Nothing particular, Miss Delves. Only that something which had happened in the day was odd," added Jemima, glancing significantly at me. "The master was in his room half undressed, and he came rushing after me, just as he was. The minute he looked on her he murmured that she was dying, and sent off a man for Mr. Lowe, and another for the old doctor from Nettleby. Lowe came at once, but the other did not get here till it was over. She died at two."
Jemima would have enlarged on the details for ever. I felt sick as I listened. Even now, as I write, a sort of sickness comes over me with the remembrance. I wandered into the hall, and was sobbing with my head against the dining-room door-post, not knowing any one was there, when Mr. Edwin Barley gently unlatched the door and looked out.
He had been weeping, as was easy to be seen. His eyes were red--his air and manner subdued; but my acquired fear of him was in full force, and I would rather have gone away than been drawn in.
"Child, don't cry so."
"I never took leave of her, sir. I did not see her before she died."
"If weeping tears of blood would bring her back to life, she'd be here again," he responded, almost fiercely. "They have killed her between them; they have, Anne; and, by heavens! if there was any law to touch them, they should feel it."
"Who, sir?"
"The doctors. And precious doctors they have proved themselves! Why do you tremble so, child? They have not understood the disorder from the first: it is one requiring the utmost possible help from stimulants; otherwise the system cannot battle with it. They gave her none; they kept her upon water, and--she is lying there. Oh! that I had done as it perpetually crossed my mind to do!" he continued, clasping his hands together in anguish; "that I had taken her treatment upon myself, risking the responsibility! She would have been living now!"
If ever a man spoke the genuine sentiments of his heart, Mr. Edwin Barley appeared to do so then, and a little bit of my dislike of him subsided--just a shade of it.
"I am sorry you should have come into the house at this time, my poor child; some spell seems to have been upon it ever since. Go now to Charlotte Delves; tell her I say she is to take good care of you."
He shut himself in again as I went away. Oh, the restless day! the miserable day! That, and the one of mamma's death, remain still upon my memory as the two sad epochs of my life, standing out conspicuously in their bitterness.
Moving about the house restlessly; shedding tears by turns; leaning my head on the sofa in Miss Delves's parlour! She was very kind to me; but what was any kindness to me then? It seemed to me that I could never, never be happy again. I had so loved Selina!
I wanted to see her again. It was almost as if I had not seen her in the morning, for the shock of surprise had startled away my senses. I had looked upon mamma so many times after death, that the customary dread of childhood at such sights lingered but little with me. And I began to watch for an opportunity to go in.
It came at twilight. In passing the room I saw the door open, and supposed some of the maids might be there. In I went bravely; and passed round to the far side of the bed, nearest to the window and the fading light.
But I had not courage to draw aside the curtain quite at first, and sat down for a moment in the low chair by the bed's head, to wait until courage came. Some one else came first; and that was Mr. Edwin Barley.
He walked slowly in, carrying a candle, startling me nearly to sickness. His slippers were light, and I had not heard his approach. It must have been he who had left the door open, probably having been to fetch the very candle in his hand. He did not come near the bed, at least