forgiveness;
it was worse than anger or reproach; it was a repulse, and that when her
whole heart was yearning to relieve the pent-up oppression that almost
choked her, by weeping with her. She leant her burning forehead on the
cool marble chimney-piece, and longed for her mother,--longed for her
almost as much for her papa's, her Aunt Mary's and her grandmother's
sake, as for her own. But O! what an infinite relief would one talk with
her have been! She turned toward the table, and thought of writing to
her, but her hand was trembling--every pulse throbbing; she could not
even sit still enough to make the attempt.

At last she saw Henrietta spring to her feet, and hastening to the
window beheld the melancholy procession; Fred carried on a mattress by
Uncle Geoffrey and three of the labourers; Philip Carey walking at one
side, and on the other Mrs. Frederick Langford leaning on Uncle Roger's
arm.

Both girls hurried out to meet them, but all attention was at that
moment for the patient, as he was carried in on his mattress, and
deposited for a few minutes on the large hall table. Henrietta pushed
between her uncles, and made her way up to him, unconscious of the
presence of anyone else--even of her mother--while she clasped his hand,
and hanging over him looked with an agonized intensity at his motionless
features. The next moment she felt her mother's hand on her shoulder,
and was forced to turn round and look into her face: the sweet mournful
meekness of which came for a moment like a soft cooling breeze upon the
dry burning desert of her grief.

"My poor child," said the gentle voice.

"O, mamma, is--is--." She could not speak; her face was violently
agitated, and the very muscles of her throat quivered.

"They hope for the best, my dear," was the reply; but both Mr. Geoffrey
Langford and Beatrice distinguished her own hopelessness in the
intonation, and the very form of the expression: whereas Henrietta only
took in and eagerly seized the idea of comfort which it was intended
to convey to her. She would have inquired more, but Mrs. Langford was
telling her mother of the arrangements she had made, and entreating her
to take some rest.

"Thank you, ma'am,--thank you very much indeed--you are very kind: I am
very sorry to give you so much trouble," were her answers; and simple as
were the words, there was a whole world of truth and reality in them.

Preparations were now made for carrying Fred up stairs, but e