“Lyddy,” cried Jessop.
“I don’t care; I must, I will speak. He has promised to marry me again and again, and now that master is dying and he is going to be free to do as he likes, he is trying to pack me off—to send me home, and I’d sooner go and jump off the bridges at once.”
“Jessop!” cried Clive, “how can you be such a scoundrel?”
“Scoundrel yourself!” shouted Jessop furiously. “The woman’s an impostor; it’s a hatched-up breach of promise case to get money—a fraud.”
“No, no, no,” cried Lyddy wildly, as she flung herself at Clive’s feet, and caught and clung to his hands. “It’s true—all true. Dear Mr Clive, don’t, don’t you forsake me. Don’t you turn against me now.”
“Doctor! you here!” cried Clive, as he became conscious of the fact that they were not alone; and he made a step to cross the room to where Doctor Praed was standing with his child’s arm locked in his. But, at the first movement, Lyddy uttered a piteous cry, clung to him wildly, and suffered herself to be dragged over, and half lie sobbing hysterically on the carpet.
“Yes, sir, I am here,” said the Doctor gravely.
“But my father?” cried Clive excitedly.
“Is spared this fresh trouble, sir,” said the Doctor coldly.
“Dead!” cried Clive, in a voice fall of agony, and he turned to his brother.