'Why, I happened of a little accident about that;—for as I was a sweeping under the table, the broom knocked the ink down; but, by good luck, it only fell upon that little morsel of paper.'
'Little morsel of paper? it's more precious than a whole library! But what did you do with it? what is become of it? whatever condition it is in, if you have but saved it—where is it, I say?'
'Why—it was all over ink, and good for nothing, so I did not think of your missing it—so I throwed it behind the fire.'
'I wish you had been thrown there yourself with all my heart! But if ever you bring a broom into my room again—'
'Why, I did nothing but what my master ordered—'
'Or if ever you touch a paper, or a book of mine, again—'
'My master said himself—'
'Your master's a blockhead! and you are another—go away, I say!'
Mary now hurried out of the room, enraged for her master, and frightened for herself; and Edgar, not aware Sir Hugh was within hearing, soon succeeded in calming the doctor, by mildly listening to his lamentations.
Sir Hugh, extremely shocked, sat upon the stairs to recover himself. Miss Margland, who never felt so virtuous, and never so elated, as when witnessing the imperfections or improprieties of others, descanted largely against ingratitude; treating an unmeaning sally of passion as a serious mark of turpitude: but Eugenia, ashamed for Dr. Orkborne, to whom, as her preceptor, she felt a constant disposition to be partial, determined to endeavour to induce him to make some apology. She glided, therefore, past her uncle, and tapped at the doctor's door.