"I think I am going to die. Will it be very soon? Would there be time to send--" "We will send for anything or any one you want. Do you feel worse, dear? Time to send for whom?" "For Percival." "Harry Hardwicke has sent for him already. Perhaps he has the message by now: it is an hour and a half since the messenger went." "When will he come?" "To-morrow, darling." There was a pause. Then the faint voice came again: "What time?" Mrs. Middleton went to the door and called softly to Hardwicke. He had been looking in Bradshaw, and she returned directly: "Percival will come by the express to-night. He will be at Fordborough by the quarter-past nine train, and Harry will meet him and bring him over at once--by ten o'clock, he says, or a few minutes later." Sissy's brows contracted for a moment: she was calculating the time. "What is it now?" she said. "Twenty minutes to eight." Fourteen hours and a half! The whole night between herself and Percival! The darkness must come and must go, the sun must set and must again be high in the heavens, before he could stand by her side. It seemed to Sissy as if she were going down into the blackness of an awful gulf, where Death was waiting for her. Would she have strength to escape him, to toil up the farther side, and to reach the far-off to-morrow and Percival? "Aunt Harriet," she said, "shall I live till then? I want to speak to him." "Yes, my darling--indeed you will. Don't talk so: you will break my heart. Perhaps God will spare you." "No," said Sissy--"no." Between eight and nine Hardwicke was summoned again. Mrs. Latimer wanted some one to go to Latimer's Court, to take the latest news and to say that it was impossible she could return that night. "You see they went away before Dr. Grey came," she said. "I have written a little note. Can you find me a messenger?" "I will either find one or I will go myself," he replied. "Oh, I didn't mean to trouble you. And wait a moment, for Mrs. Middleton wants him to go on to her house. She will come and speak to you when I go back to the poor girl." "How is Miss Langton?" "I hardly know. I think she is wandering a little: she talked just now about some embroidery she has been doing--asked for it, in fact." "When Dr. Grey was obliged to go he didn't think there would be any change before he came back, surely?" said Hardwicke anxiously. "No. But she can't know what she is saying, can she? Poor girl! she will never do another stitch." Mrs. Latimer fairly broke down. The unfinished embroidery which never could be finished brought the truth home to her. It is hard to realize that a life with its interlacing roots and fibres is broken off short. "Oh, Mrs. Latimer, don't! don't!" Harry exclaimed, aghast at her tears. "For dear Mrs. Middleton's sake!" He rushed away, and returned with wine. "If you give way what will become of us?"