Mr Wharncliffe could not but approve of this judicious arrangement, and we separated; and, not to interfere with my narrative, I may as well tell the reader at once that Mr Wharncliffe’s uncle bowed to circumstances, pretended to rejoice at the discovery of the will, never mentioned the loss of his tin box, put the hand of Cecilia into that of William, and they were married one month after the meeting at Mr Turnbull’s, which I have now related.
The evening was so far advanced before this council-of-war was over, that I was obliged to defer the delivery of the cheque to Mr Drummond until the next day. I left about eleven o’clock, and arrived at noon; when I knocked at the door the servant did not know me.
“What did you want?”
“I wanted to speak with Mrs or Miss Drummond, and my name is Faithful.”
He desired me to sit down in the hall while he went up; “And wipe your shoes, my lad.” I cannot say that I was pleased at this command, as I may call it, but he returned, desiring me to walk up, and I followed him.
I found Sarah alone in the drawing-room.
“Jacob, I’m so glad to see you, and I’m sorry that you were made to wait below, but—if people who can be otherwise will be watermen, it is not our fault. The servants only judge by appearances.”
I felt annoyed for a moment, but it was soon over. I sat down by Sarah, and talked with her for some time.
“The present I had to make you was a purse of my own knitting, to put your earnings in;” said she, laughing; and then she held up her finger in mockery, crying, “Boat, sir; boat, sir. Well, Jacob, there’s nothing like independence, after all, and you must not mind my laughing at you.”
“I do not heed it, Sarah,” replied I; (but I did mind it very much) “there is no disgrace.”