The church was cool and quiet, and there was something in Sophy's
countenance and reverent attitude that seemed as if she were
consecrating a newly-formed resolution; her eye was often raised, as
though in spite of herself, to the name of the brother whose short
life seemed inseparably interwoven with all the higher aspirations of
his home.
In the midst of the Thanksgiving, a sudden movement attracted
Albinia, and she saw Sophy resting her head, and looking excessively
pale. She put her arm round her, and would have led her out, but
could not persuade her to move, and by the time the Blessing was
given, the power was gone, and she had almost fainted away, when a
tall strong form stooped over her, and Mr. Dusautoy gathered her up
in his arms, and bore her off as if she had been a baby, to the open
window of his own drawing-room.
'Put me down! The floor, please!' said Sophy, feebly, for all her
remaining faculties were absorbed in dislike to the mode of
conveyance.
'Yes, flat on the floor,' said Mrs. Dusautoy, rising with full energy,
and laying a cushion under Sophy's head, reaching a scent-bottle, and
sending her husband for cold water and sal volatile; with readiness
that astonished Albinia, unused to illness, and especially to faintings,
and remorseful at having taken Sophy out. 'Was it the pain of her arm
that had overcome her?'
'No,' said Sophy, 'it was only my back.'
'Indeed! you never told me you had hurt your back;' and Albinia began
describing the fall, and declaring there must be a sprain.
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