One day he was sent for all in a hurry by Griffith.
He found him looking gloomy and agitated.
The cause came out directly. Griffith had observed, at last, what all the females in the house had seen two months ago, that Mrs. Gaunt was in the family-way.
He now communicated this to Father Francis, with a voice of agony, and looks to match.
"All the better, my son," said the genial priest; "'twill be another tie between you. I hope it will be a fine boy to inherit your estates." Then, observing a certain hideous expression distorting Griffith's face, he fixed his eyes full on him, and said, sternly, "Are you not cured yet of that madness of yours?"
"No, no, no," said Griffith, deprecatingly; "but why did she not tell me?"
"You had better ask her."
"Not I. She will remind me I am nothing to her now. And, though 'tis so, yet I would not hear it from her lips."
In spite of this wise resolution, the torture he was in drove him to remonstrate with her on her silence.
She blushed high, and excused herself as follows:—