of all this. "He is the cause," Garcia would think sitting gloomily by the bed. "Would to God he had never crossed my threshold! She would have lived contented and happy with her old father, without giving one thought to other love. She would have lived quietly and in calm happiness all the days of her life with me, with never a thought for anybody else; and now, my sole darling, my last and best, is dying for aught I know; she is leaving me as the others have done. I shall be very lonely then. I shall die like a rat in a hole without one dear being to close my fading eyes." And Garcia would walk away, and his heart woul sink at the thought of all this.
Lord Moore came often daily; He would enquire below; he was not allowed to go upstairs now; Mrs. Cranly took a great fancy to him. She, with her woman's keen eyes, saw how matters stood before Garcia breathed a word; and she was delighted to have a lord for a relative, even by marriage, only she thought that Bianca was too good for him; an emperor even, would hardly in her opinion, have been worthy of Bianca. She would talk to Lord Moore by the hour, speaking about Bianca and her pretty ways when a child of between four and six.
Once, when the London doctor even, gave up all hope, Garcia called in Lord Moore. "Viens la voir pour la dernière fois" said he hoarsely. They both entered the dim and darkened room. The dawn was just breaking; the coming sun, shed a ruddy blush over the elm-tree tops. The bed had been wheeled towards the window. She was lying with her face towards the window, her large brown eyes fixed on the fields beyond. Mrs. Cranly was sitting quietly by the pillow, silently wiping away the tears that flowed down both her own cheeks. Garcia and Lord Moore went by the bed and stood near; Garcia knelt down at the foot, his hands pressed together in agonised prayer. "Look, father, the sun is rising so beautifully this morning." Said Bianca. "Do you remember Theuriet's description of dawn?" and she murmured softly:
"Je m'endors, et là-bas lo frissonnant matin
Baigne les pampres verts d'une rougeur furtive,
