'It is your brother.'
'So it is. Hullo, Gabriel, why that solemn brow?'
'I have just heard bad news,' said Gabriel, pausing before them. 'Old Mr Leigh is dying.'
'What! the rector of Heathcroft? I don't call that bad news, old boy, seeing that his death gives you your step.'
'George!' cried Mab and Gabriel in a breath, 'how can you?'
'Well, Leigh is old and ripe enough to die, isn't he?' said the incorrigible George. 'Remember what the old Scotch sexton said to the weeping mourners, "What are ye greeting aboot? If ye dinna bring them at eighty, when wull ye bring them?" My Scotch accent is bad,' added Captain Pendle, 'but the story itself is a thing of beauty.'
'I want to tell my father the news,' said Gabriel, indignantly turning away from George's wink. 'Where is he?'
'With Moth—Oh, there he is,' cried Mab, as the bishop issued from the sibyl's tent. 'Oh, George, how ill he looks!'
'By Jove, yes! He is as pale as a ghost. Come and see what is wrong, Gabriel. Excuse me a moment, Mab.'
The two brothers walked forward, but before they could reach their father he was already taking his leave and shaking hands with Mrs Pansey. His face was white, his eyes were anxious, and it was only by sheer force of will that he could excuse himself to his hostess in his ordinary voice.