Mrs Jonathan Prothero crept softly up to Rowland, and put her hand in his--Owen came to him--his uncle--all were there.
But as soon as he had recovered from his temporary emotion, he went to his father's side, who had seated himself on a chair behind the curtain of the bed, and tried to comfort him.

The presence of his second son was in itself a consolation to poor Mr Prothero; but he could not listen to his words.
'Pray for your mother, Rowland,' was all he could say.
Rowland knelt down with all those present, except Gladys, who joined in spirit and prayed.

Never before had he known what it was to use the prayers of his church for one so dear to him; never before had he felt the great difficulty of reading them when his emotion nearly choked his utterance.

But as priest and son he prayed fervently for his mother.
Mr Prothero seemed calmer after he rose from his knees, and ventured to lean over his wife to assure himself that she still breathed.

There was an occasional slight pulsation scarcely to be called breath.
The doctor came in and felt her pulse.