“For the love of God, let me come in, if he is here,” cried she. “Come in, then, and stay here whilst I run to the house.” [75] The footman ran off; and my old nurse, on seeing me, burst into an agony of grief. I did not understand one word she uttered, as she spoke in her native language; but her lamentations went to my heart, for they came from hers. She hung over me, and I felt her tears dropping upon my forehead. I could not refrain from whispering, “Don’t cry--I am alive.” “Blessings on him!” exclaimed she, starting back: she then dropped down on her knees to thank God. Then calling me by every fondling name that nurses use to their children, she begged my forgiveness, and alternately cursed herself and prayed for me. The strong affections of this poor woman touched me more than any thing I had ever yet felt in my life; she seemed to be the only person upon earth who really cared for me; and in spite of her vulgarity, and my prejudice against the tone in which she spoke, she excited in my mind emotions of tenderness and gratitude. “My good woman, if I live, I will do something for you: tell me what I can do,” said I. “Live! live! God bless you, live; that’s all in the wide world I want of you, my jewel; and, till you are well, let me watch over you at nights, as I used to do when you were a child, and I had you in my arms all to myself, dear.” Three or four people now ran into the room, to get before Captain Crawley, whose voice was heard at this instant at a distance. I had only time to make the poor woman understand that I wished to appear to be dead; she took the hint with surprising quickness. Captain Crawley came up the steps, talking in the tone of a master to the steward and people who followed. “What is this old hag doing here? Where is Robert? Where is Thomas? I ordered them to stay till I came. Mr. Turner, why did not you stay? What! has not the coroner been here yet? The coroner must see the body, I tell you. Good God! What a parcel of blockheads you all are! How many times must I tell you the same thing? Nothing can be done till the coroner has seen him; then we’ll talk about the funeral, Mr. Turner--one thing at a time. Every thing shall be done properly, Mr. Turner. Lady Glenthorn trusts every thing to me--Lady Glenthorn wishes that I should order every thing.” “To be sure--no doubt--very proper--I don’t say against that.” “But,” continued Crawley, turning towards the sofa upon which I lay, and seeing Ellinor kneeling beside me, “what keeps this old Irish witch here still? What business have you here, pray; and who are you, or what are you?” “Plase your honour, I was his nurse formerly, and so had a nat’ral longing to see him once again before I would die.” “And did you come all the way from Ireland on this wise errand?” “Troth I did--every inch of the way from his own sweet place.” “Why, you are little better than a fool, I think,” said Crawley.