‘God’s will be done!’ said Dr Thorne.

’His death is a release; for his last days have been very frightful.  Your coming, Dr Thorne, will be a comfort to Lady Scatcherd.’  And then Dr Fillgrave, thinking that even the present circumstances required no further condescension, ensconced himself in the carriage.

’His last days have been very dreadful!  Ah, me, poor fellow!  Dr Fillgrave, before you go, allow me to say this:  I am quite aware that when he fell into your hands, no medical skill in the world could save him.’

Dr Fillgrave bowed low from the carriage, and after this unwonted exchange of courtesies, the two doctors parted, not to meet again—­at any rate, in the pages of this novel.  Of Dr Fillgrave, let it now be said, that he is now regarded as one of the celebrities of Barchester.

Lady Scatcherd was found sitting alone in her little room on the ground-floor.  Even Hannah was not with her, for Hannah was now occupied upstairs.  When the doctor entered the room, which he did unannounced, he found her seated on a chair, with her back against one of the presses, her hands clasped together over her knees, gazing into vacancy.  She did not ever hear him or see him as he approached, and his hand had lightly touched her shoulder before she knew that she was not alone.  Then, she looked up at him with a face so full of sorrow, so worn with suffering, that his own heart was racked to see her.

‘It’s all over, my friend,’ said he.  ‘It is better so; much better so.’

She seemed at first hardly to understand him, but still regarding him with that wan face, shook her head slowly and sadly.  One might have thought that she was twenty years older than when Dr Thorne last saw her.

He drew a chair to her side, and sitting by her, took her hand in his.  ‘It is better so, Lady Scatcherd; better so,’ he repeated.  ’The poor lad’s doom had been spoken, and it is well for him, and for you, that it should be over.’

‘They are both gone now,’ said she, speaking very low; ’both gone now.  Oh, doctor!  To be left alone here, all alone!’

He said some few words trying to comfort her; but who can comfort a widow bereaved of her child?  Who can console a heart that has lost all it possessed?  Sir Roger had not been to her a tender husband; but still he had been the husband of her love.  Sir Louis had not been to her an affectionate son; but still he had been her child, her only child.  Now they were both gone.  Who can wonder that the world should be a blank to her?

Still the doctor spoke soothing words, and still he held her hand.  He knew that his words could not console her; but the sounds of his kindness at such desolate moments are, to such minds as hers, some alleviation of grief.  She hardly answered him, but sat there staring out before her, leaving her hand passively to him, and swaying her head backwards and forwards as though her grief were too heavy to be borne.