"She sends you her dearest love," she said, "but she would
rather be alone; she doesn't wish you to see her thus; she is
absolutely brave, and that is the best thing; and I am not afraid
myself," she added: "we must just wait--everything is in her
favour; but I know how you feel and how you must feel; just clasp
the anxiety close, look in its face; it's a blessed thing, though
you can't see it as I do--blessed, I mean, that one CAN feel so."
But the fear thickened after this. A carriage drew up, and Howard
saw two doctors descend, carrying bags in their hands. His heart
sickened within him, yet he was helped by seeing their
unembarrassed and cheerful air, the nod that one of them, a big,
fresh-faced man, gave to the coachman, the look he cast round the
beautiful old house. People could think of such things, Howard saw,
in a moment like that. He went down and met them in the hall, and
had that strange sense of unreality in moments of crisis, when one
hears one's own voice saying courteous things, without any volition
of one's own. The big doctor looked at him kindly. "It is all quite
simple and straightforward!" he said. "You must not let yourself be
anxious; these times pass by and one wonders afterwards how one
could have been so much afraid."
But the hours brought no relief; the doctors stayed long in the
house; something had occurred, Howard knew not what, did not dare
to conjecture. The silence, the beauty of the whole scene, was
insupportably horrible to him.
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