“'No, sir,' rejoined he, quickly, 'I'm the boy that murdered him.'
“Ay, Miss Martin, there's a leaf out of a lawyer's notebook, and yet I could tell you more good traits of men and women, more of patient martyrdom under wrong, more courageous suffering to do right, than if I were—what shall I say?—a chaplain in a nobleman's family.”
Repton's memory was well stored with instances in question, and he beguiled the way by relating several, till they reached Cro' Martin.
“And there is another yet,” added he, at the close, “more strongly illustrating what I have said than all these, but I cannot tell it to you.”
“Why so?” asked she, eagerly.
“It is a family secret, Miss Martin, and one that in all likelihood you shall never know. Still, I cannot refrain from saying that you have in your own family as noble a specimen of self-sacrifice and denial as I ever heard of.”
They were already at the door as he said this, and a troop of servants had assembled to receive them. Mary, therefore, had no time for further inquiry, had such an attempt been of any avail.
“There goes the first dinner-bell, Miss Martin,” said Repton, gayly. “I'm resolved to be in the drawing-room before you!” And with this he hopped briskly upstairs, while Mary hastened to her room to dress.