Such were the sort of exclamations which, uttered all together, took the place of any words of welcome.
Mark, in his secret heart, thanked Heaven that it was not his lot to remain in this place.
“Sit down, Mark,” said Ann, looking joyless, notwithstanding her finery; “and be silent, you children, will you? One can’t hear one’s own voice, in the midst of so much noise.”
The children might not have obeyed their mother very readily, had not a savage look from John seconded her words.
“I thought that you had a good situation, Mark,” continued the woman; “you’ve not been so foolish as to leave it?”
“You have not heard, then, of the fire which took place yesterday: poor Mr. Lowe has been burned out of house and home. But a far better situation has been offered to me. If you consent, and if father approve, I shall go to Yorkshire next week, with—”
“Yorkshire!” muttered John; “and what’s the gentleman’s name?”
“Searle; he lives at a place called Silvermere.”
“Silvermere!” exclaimed both Dowley and his wife at once. Anne added, in a voice that was scarcely audible, “That’s close to Castle Fontonore!”
“Everything is arranged for me,” continued Mark; “but I thought that it would not be right to go so far without coming and asking your consent.”