'I must dispose of—of—of—Well, it must be this,' touching his little cross, Ferdinand's gift, and nearly his favourite possession.
'Come! It won't do to make your début at Ewmouth by disposing of your jewelry. I left myself a margin of half-a-crown, and if we walk from the station, that will save two shillings more.'
'That will do,' said Clement. 'Thank you, Fee, you shall have it again. I had given all I had about me in the other hovel. The woman is waiting in the churchyard. I'll send her off, and then tell you.'
Felix accompanied him through the beautiful summer garden to the rough rugged churchyard, where a lean woman in tattered drab-coloured garments by no means accorded with the paradisaical notion of Vale Leston. Her distress was so genuine that she scarcely thanked Clement; but assuring him she could now get what she wanted, she walked off.
Clement sighed, and looked up at the great massive church, not with Felix's pitying love, but like a mighty burthen.
'Well, Clem!'
'Well! I see it must be done.'
'I am very glad.'
'I am sure I am very sorry,' said Clement, with a simplicity new in him.
Before any more could pass, a servant came in search of them to summon them to Mr. Underwood's room. He looked worn and sorrowful, but there was a certain look of pleasure at the entrance of the two young men; and he made a sort of introduction of them to the lawyer, Mr. Wilder, a London solicitor, then turning to Felix, he once more asked if he still declined all idea of eventually taking the living.