“Melancholy event,” suggested Mary.
“Yes, to be sure. I can’t think why grown-up people always write on purpose for one not to read them.—‘Melancholy event that has placed you in possession of the horrors of the family.’”
“Horrors!—Kate, Kate!”
“Well, I am sure it is horrors,” said the little girl rather perversely.
“This is not a time for nonsense, Kate,” said Mr. Wardour; and she was subdued directly.
“Shall I read it to you?” said Mary.
“Oh, no, no!” Kate was too proud of her letter to give it up, and applied herself to it again.—“‘Family honours, until I could ascertain your present address. And likewise, the shock of your poor cousin’s death so seriously affected my sister’s health in her delicate state, that for some days I could give my attention to nothing else.’ Dear me! This is my Aunt Barbara, I see! Is Aunt Jane so ill?”
“She has had very bad health for many years,” said Mr. Wardour; “and your other aunt has taken the greatest care of her.”
“‘We have now, however, been able to consider what will be best for all parties; and we think nothing will be so proper as that you should reside with us for the present. We will endeavour to make a happy home for you; and will engage a lady to superintend your education, and give you all the advantages to which you are entitled. We have already had an interview with a very admirable person, who will come down to Oldburgh with our butler next Friday, and escort you to us, if Mrs. Wardour will kindly prepare you for the journey. I have written to thank her for her kindness to you.’”
“Mrs. Wardour!” exclaimed Sylvia.