“They bewilder us savages,” said Angela, smiling. “Remember we are from the wilds.”
“She shall have her tea, and a good rest,” said Marilda; “and then I have asked her uncle and aunts to meet you at dinner, and Fernan hopes to bring home another old friend. Whom do you think, Angel?”
“Oh! Not our Bishop?”
“Yes, the Bishop of Albertstown! He is actually in town; Fernan saw him yesterday at the Church House.”
“Oh! that is joy!” cried Angela; and Lena raised her head, with, “Is it mine—mine own Bishop?”
“Mine own, mine own Bishop and godfather, my sweet!” said Angela; “more to us in our own way than any one else. Oh! it is joy! How happy Clement will be!”
It was with much feeling, almost akin to shame, that Bessie wrote to Angela this decision of her brother, that a London authority must be consulted—not Dr. Brownlow, but one whom Mrs. Sam had heard highly spoken of.
“That man!” cried Angela. “I have heard of him! He is a regular mealy-mouthed old woman of a doctor! And she is so well just now! How horrid to shake her up again! Oh, Bear! if I could only sail away with her to Queensland!”
“You would if it was ten years ago,” said Bernard.
“Yes! Is it the way of the world, or learning resignation, that makes one know one must submit? Giving up an idol is a worse thing when the idol is made of flesh and blood.”