“Go on; read further,” said he, curtly.
“'—that the Master would concur with such a procedure, I am desirous of hearing what you yourself know of the speculation in question. Have you seen and conversed with the engineers who have made the surveys? Have you heard from competent and unconcerned parties—?' Oh, George, it 's so like the way he talks. I can't read on.”
L'Estrange took the letter from her and glanced rapidly over the lines; and then turning to the last page read aloud: “'How will the recommendation of the Ecclesiastical Commissioners affect you touching the union of Portshandon with Kilmullock? Do they simply extinguish you, or have you a claim for compensation?'”
“What does he mean, George?” cried she, as she gazed at the pale face and agitated expression of her brother as he laid down the letter before her.
“It is just extinguishment; that's the word for it,” muttered he. “When they unite the parishes, they suppress me.”
“Oh, George, don't say that; it has not surely come to this?”
“There 's no help for it,” said he, putting away his glass, and leaning his head on his hand. “I was often told they 'd do something like this; and when Grimsby was here to examine the books and make notes,—you remember it was a wet Sunday, and nobody came but the clerk's mother,—he said, as we left the church, 'The congregation is orderly and attentive, but not numerous. '”
“I told you, George, I detested that man. I said at the time he was no friend to you.”
“If he felt it his duty—”
“Duty, indeed! I never heard of a cruelty yet that had n't the plea of a duty. I 'm sure Captain Craufurd comes to church, and Mrs. Bayley comes, and as to the great house, there 's a family there of not less than thirty persons.”