“A wedding!” exclaimed Mr. Snodgrass, turning very pale.
“Yes, a wedding. But don’t be frightened,” said the good-humoured old man; “it’s only Trundle there, and Bella.”
“Oh, is that all!” said Mr. Snodgrass, relieved from a painful doubt which had fallen heavily on his breast. “Give you joy, sir. How is Joe?”
“Very well,” replied the old gentleman. “Sleepy as ever.”
“And your mother, and the clergyman, and all of ’em?”
“Quite well.”
“Where,” said Mr. Tupman, with an effort—“where is—she, sir?” and he turned away his head, and covered his eyes with his hand.
“She!” said the old gentleman, with a knowing shake of the head. “Do you mean my single relative—eh?”
Mr. Tupman, by a nod, intimated that his question applied to the disappointed Rachael.
“Oh, she’s gone away,” said the old gentleman. “She’s living at a relation’s, far enough off. She couldn’t bear to see the girls, so I let her go. But come! Here’s the dinner. You must be hungry after your ride. I am, without any ride at all; so let us fall to.”