She gave him a look of helplessness and dismay, with an appeal in it. What could be done? Could anything be said of mortal business now? Could they come in with their papers, with their conflict of human interests and passion, to this sanctuary of fading life? And yet again, could Alicia Penton make up her mind to be balked, disappointed, triumphed over in the end?
“Better--is not the word.” Sir Walter spoke very slowly, pausing constantly between his broken phrases, his voice very low, but still clear. “I am well--floating away, you know--carried very softly--in some one’s arms. You will laugh--at an old fellow. But I don’t feel quite clear if I am an old fellow, or perhaps--a child.” Then came that fluttering laugh of weakness, full of pathetic pleasure and weeping and well-being. “But,” he added, with a deeper drawn, more difficult breath, “you come in quickly. Tell me--before it’s late. There is something on my mind--like a shadow--something to do.”
Alicia held his hand fast; she did not move, nor look up; her eyes blank, introspective, without any light in them, making no reply to him, fixed on her father’s face; but her whole being quivering with a conflict beyond describing, good and evil, the noble and the small, contending over her, in a struggle which felt like death.
A similar struggle, but slighter and fainter was in her husband’s mind; but in him it was not a mortal conflict, only a question which was best. Was it right to permit the old man to float away, as he said, without executing a project which seemed so near to his heart? Because it was not one which pleased Russell Penton, because he would rather that it should fail, he felt himself the more bound to his wife that it should not fail through him.
“It seems almost wicked to disturb you, sir,” he said, “but I heard that you wanted Rochford; if so, he is here.”
Alicia caught her husband by the arm, pressing it almost fiercely with her hand, leaning her trembling weight upon him. “But not to disturb you, father,” she cried, with a gasp.
“Ah!” said Sir Walter, “I remember. What was it? I don’t seem to see anything--except those lights like stars shining; and Alicia, Alicia! How beautiful she is looking--like a girl--to-night.”