Mary had always thought him a dear old man; and she felt
surer than ever of it when he stood patting her hand and bidding her
keep a good heart; for they would certainly pull her husband through.
"There aren't so many of his kind here, Mrs. Mahony, that we can afford
to lose him."
But altogether she had never known till now how many and how faithful
their friends were. Hardly, for instance, had Richard been carried in,
stiff as a log and grey as death, when good Mrs. Devine was fumbling
with the latch of the gate, an old sunbonnet perched crooked on her
head: she had run down just as she was, in the midst of shelling peas
for dinner. She begged to be allowed to help with the nursing. But Mary
felt bound to refuse. She knew how the thought of what he might have
said in his delirium would worry Richard, when he recovered his senses:
few men laid such weight as he on keeping their private thoughts
private.
Not to be done, Mrs. Devine installed herself in the kitchen to
superintend the cooking. Less for the patient, into whom at first only
liquid nourishment could be injected, than: "To see as your own strength
is kep' up, dearie." Tilly swooped down and bore off Trotty. Delicate
fruits, new-laid eggs, jellies and wines came from Agnes Ocock; while
Amelia Grindle, who had no such dainties to offer arrived every day at
three o'clock, to mind the house while Mary slept. Archdeacon Long was
also a frequent visitor, bringing not so much spiritual as physical aid;
for, as the frenzy reached its height and Richard was maddened by the
idea that a plot was brewing against his life, a pair of strong arms
were needed to hold him down.
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