But it must come; there's no putting it off.

Do be willing I should speak now!" "My child, I _am_ willing!" said St.Clare, covering his eyes with one hand, and holding up Eva's hand with the other.
"Then, I want to see all our people together.

I have some things I _must_ say to them," said Eva.
"_Well_," said St.Clare, in a tone of dry endurance.
Miss Ophelia despatched a messenger, and soon the whole of the servants were convened in the room.
Eva lay back on her pillows; her hair hanging loosely about her face, her crimson cheeks contrasting painfully with the intense whiteness of her complexion and the thin contour of her limbs and features, and her large, soul-like eyes fixed earnestly on every one.
The servants were struck with a sudden emotion.

The spiritual face, the long locks of hair cut off and lying by her, her father's averted face, and Marie's sobs, struck at once upon the feelings of a sensitive and impressible race; and, as they came in, they looked one on another, sighed, and shook their heads.

There was a deep silence, like that of a funeral.
Eva raised herself, and looked long and earnestly round at every one.
All looked sad and apprehensive.