He pressed the younger sister to his heart. Released from his embrace, she again clung to her sister; and her eyes, with the same blended look, again sought those so calm, serene, and cheerful.
“Farewell my boy!” said the Doctor. “To talk about any serious correspondence or serious affections, and engagements, and so forth, in such a—ha ha ha!—you know what I mean—why that, of course, would be sheer nonsense. All I can say is, that if you and Marion should continue in the same foolish minds, I shall not object to have you for a son-in-law one of these days.”
“Over the bridge!” cried Britain.
“Let it come!” said Alfred, wringing the Doctor’s hand stoutly. “Think of me sometimes, my old friend and guardian, as seriously as you can! Adieu, Mr. Snitchey! Farewell, Mr. Craggs!”
“Coming down the road!” cried Britain.
“A kiss of Clemency Newcome for long acquaintance' sake—shake hands, Britain—Marion, dearest heart, good bye! Sister Grace! remember!”
The quiet household figure, and the face so beautiful in its serenity, were turned towards him in reply; but Marion’s look and attitude remained unchanged.
The coach was at the gate. There was a bustle with the luggage. The coach drove away. Marion never moved.
“He waves his hat to you, my love,” said Grace. “Your chosen husband, darling. Look!”
The younger sister raised her head, and, for a moment, turned it. Then turning back again, and fully meeting, for the first time, those calm eyes, fell sobbing on her neck.