The servant returned with the answer. Vivian was retiring, but he came back, for he saw at that moment a convulsive motion contract Lady Glistonbury’s face: she made an effort to walk; but if Vivian had not supported her instantly, she must have fallen. She endeavoured to disengage herself from his assistance, and again attempted to walk. “For God’s sake, lean upon me, madam!” said Vivian, much alarmed. With his assistance, she reached the door of the inner room: summoning all the returning powers of life, she then withdrew her arm from his, and pointing back to the door at which Vivian entered, she said, “That is your way, sir.” “Pardon me--I cannot go--I cannot leave you at this moment,” said Vivian. “This is my daughter’s apartment, sir,” said Lady Glistonbury, stopping, and standing still and fixed. Some of the attendants within, hearing her ladyship’s voice, opened the door; Lady Glistonbury made an effort to prevent it, but in vain: the chamber was darkened, but as the door opened, the wind from an open window blew back the curtain, and some light fell upon a canopy bed, where Lady Sarah lay motionless, her eyes closed, and pale as death; one attendant chafing her temples, another rubbing her feet: she looked up just after the door opened, and, raising her head, she saw Vivian--a gleam of joy illumined her countenance, and coloured her cheek. “Sir,” repeated Lady Glistonbury, “this is my daughter’s----” She could articulate no more. She fell across the threshold, struck with palsy. Her daughter sprang from the bed, and, with Vivian’s assistance, raised and carried Lady Glistonbury to an arm-chair near the open window, drew back the curtain, begged Vivian to go to her father, and instantly to despatch a messenger for medical assistance. Vivian sent his own servant, who had his horse ready at the door, and he bid the man go as fast as he could. “Then you don’t leave Glistonbury to-day, sir?” said the servant. “Do as I order you--Where’s Lord Glistonbury?” His lordship, with the newspapers and letters open in his hand, came up--but they dropped on hearing the intelligence that Vivian communicated. His lordship was naturally humane and good-natured; and the shock was greater, perhaps, to him, from the sort of enmity in which he lived with Lady Glistonbury. “I dread to go up stairs,” said he. “For God’s sake, Vivian, don’t leave me in this distress!--do order your carriage away!----Put up Mr. Vivian’s carriage.” Lady Sarah’s maid came to tell them that Lady Glistonbury had recovered her speech, and that she had asked, “if Mr. Vivian was gone?” “Do come up with me,” cried Lord Glistonbury, “and she will see you are not gone.” “Here’s my lord and Mr. Vivian, my lady,” said the girl. Then, turning to Lady Glistonbury’s woman, she added, in a loud whisper, “Mr. Vivian won’t go to-day.”