"What do you want, my good lad?" asked Reginald.
"Please, sir, I want to speak to Kate Wilmot, my cousin," answered Gibbet—for it was he.
"Indeed! I suppose, then, that you are the son of—of——" and Reginald stopped; for he did not like to wound the hump-back's feelings by saying "of the hangman," and at that moment he had forgotten the name of Katherine's uncle.
"My name is Smithers, sir," said the lad.
"Ah! Smithers—so it is," cried the rector. "Well, my good lad, I cannot think of preventing Katherine's relations from coming to see her if they choose; but, as she is now in a good place and respectably settled, it would perhaps be prudent that those visits should occur as seldom as possible—I mean, not too often."
"I'm sure, sir, I'm very sorry if I have offended you, by coming," sobbed the poor hump-back; "and I would not for all the world injure Kate in the opinion of those friends who have been so kind as to provide for her."
"Yon have done no harm—I am not angry with you," said the rector. "Only Mrs. Kenrick, my housekeeper, is very particular, and does not like the servants to have many visitors."
"Then I won't come any more, sir," murmured Gibbet, whose heart was ready to break at this cruel announcement.
"Yes—you may come and see your cousin every Sunday evening."
"Oh! thank you, sir—thank you kindly, sir!" ejaculated the hump-back, in a tone of touching sincerity.