Mr. Brook tells me he is in great danger, but thinks he
sees a gleam of hope."
Lord Hartledon took her hand within his arm and resumed his pacing; his
eyes were fixed on the carpet, and he said nothing.
"Don't grieve as those without hope," she continued, her eyes filling
with tears. "He may yet recover. I have been praying that it may be so."
"Don't pray for it," he cried, his tone one of painful entreaty. "I have
been daring to pray that it might please God to take him."
"Percival!" she exclaimed, starting away from him.
"I am not mad, Anne. Death would be a more merciful fate for my boy than
life. Death now, whilst he is innocent, safe in Christ's love!--death, in
Heaven's mercy!"
And Anne crept back to the upper chamber, sick with terror; for she did
think that the trouble of his child's state was affecting her husband's
brain.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
A PAINFUL SCENE.
Lord and Lady Hartledon were entertaining a family group. The everlasting
dowager kept to them unpleasantly; making things unbearable, and wearing
out her welcome in no slight degree, if she had only been wise enough to
see it. She had escaped scarlet-fever and other dreaded ills; and was
alive still. For that matter, the little Lord Elster had come out of it
also: _not_ unscathed; for the boy remained a sickly wreck, and there was
very little hope that he would really recover.
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