To do Miss Jemima justice, her annoyance arose quite as much from the annihilation of her dearly cherished hopes of becoming the mistress of an ideal country mansion, and filling the place of lady magnificent of her brother’s village, as from the thought of the gigantic extravagance which his designs with regard to the old Hall would involve.
But the poor lady was to be yet further astonished.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you, Jemima,” said her brother, after a brief pause, and speaking with a whimsical air of apology, “that I am to start for America to-morrow.”
He spoke as though he were announcing a trip into the next county; and Miss Jemima could scarcely have shown greater amazement, if he had declared his intention of starting for the moon.
The good lady almost bounced from her seat.
“Thomas!”
She had not breath for more than that.
In truth the announcement “the Golden Shoemaker” had made was startling enough. Even Miss Owen looked up in intense surprise; and the servant girl, who was in the act of taking away the meat, was so startled that she almost let it fall into her master’s lap.
“Cobbler” Horn alone was unmoved.
“You see,” he said calmly, “when I considered the sad plight of our poor cousin, I thought it would be best for me to go and see to him myself. There are the letters,” he added, taking them from his pocket, and handing them to his sister. “You will see, Jemima, that the poor fellow is in sore straits—ill, and destitute in a low lodging-house in New York, Miss Owen! He will be informed, by now, of his change of fortune, and everything possible is to be done for him. But I feel that I can’t leave him to strangers. And then there may be a chance of leading him to the Saviour, who can tell? Besides, Jemima, a journey to America is not so much of an undertaking now-a-days, you know; and I sha’n’t be many weeks away.”