Uncle Josiah gave vent to a low whistle.
“Please ask Master Don what my Jem said.”
“Do you not understand, my good woman, that my son has not been home all night?” said Mrs Lavington, piteously.
“What? Not been home?” cried Sally, sharply. “Then they’re gone off together.”
Uncle Josiah drew a long breath.
“That Master Don was always talking to my poor Jem, and he has persuaded him, and they’re gone.”
“It is not true!” cried Kitty in a sharp voice as she stood by the table, quivering with anger. “If Cousin Don has gone away, it is your wicked husband who has persuaded him. Father, dear, don’t let them go; pray, pray fetch them back.”
Uncle Josiah’s brow grew more rugged, and there were hard lines about his lips, till his sister laid her hand upon his arm, when he started, and took her hand, looking sadly down in her face.
“You hear what Kitty says,” whispered Mrs Lavington; “pray—pray fetch them back.”
Little Mrs Wimble heard her words, and gave the old merchant an imploring look.