People said how hard it was upon Mr. Wilkins, that scarcely had that
wretch Dunster gone off, with no one knows how much out of the trusts of
the firm, before his only child fell ill. And, to tell the truth, he
himself looked burnt and scared with affliction. He had a startled look,
they said, as if he never could tell, after such experience, from which
side the awful proofs of the uncertainty of earth would appear, the
terrible phantoms of unforeseen dread. Both rich and poor, town and
country, sympathised with him. The rich cared not to press their claims,
or their business, at such a time; and only wondered, in their
superficial talk after dinner, how such a good fellow as Wilkins could
ever have been deceived by a man like Dunster. Even Sir Frank Holster
and his lady forgot their old quarrel, and came to inquire after Ellinor,
and sent her hothouse fruit by the bushel.
Mr. Corbet behaved as an anxious lover should do. He wrote daily to Miss
Monro to beg for the most minute bulletins; he procured everything in
town that any doctor even fancied might be of service, he came down as
soon as there was the slightest hint of permission that Ellinor might see
him. He overpowered her with tender words and caresses, till at last she
shrank away from them, as from something too bewildering, and past all
right comprehension.
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