Mrs. Mervyn had clipped the silken cord, and was now reading the letter, and he might as well have addressed his little speech to the china shepherdess, with the straw disc and ribbons on her head, in the bodice and short petticoat of flowered brocade, leaning against a tree, with a lamb with its hind leg and tail broken off, looking affectionately in her face.
"I can't make it out, sir; your eyes are young—perhaps you would read it to me—it is not very long."
"Certainly, with pleasure"—and Tom Sedley sat down, and, spreading the letter on the table, under the candles, read as follows to the old lady opposite:—
"Private.
"Madam,—As an old and intimate friend of your reputed husband, I take leave to inform you that he placed a sum of money in my hands for the use of your son and his, if he be still living. Should he be so, will you be so good as to let me know where it will reach him. A line to Jos. Larkin, Esq., at the Verney Arms, Cardyllian, or a verbal message, if you desire to see him, will suffice. Mr. Larkin is the solvent and religious attorney of the present Lord Verney, and you have my consent to advise with him on the subject.
"I have the honour to be,
"Madam,
"Your obedient servant,
"J. Dingwell."
"P.S.—You are aware, I suppose, madam, that I am the witness who proved the death of the late Hon. Arthur Verney, who died of a low fever in Constantinople, in July twelve months."
"Died! My God! Died! did you say died?"
"Yes. I thought you knew. It was proved a year ago nearly. The elder brother of the present Lord Verney."
There followed a silence while you might count ten, and then came a long, wild, and bitter cry.
The little girl started up, with white lips, and said, "Lord bless us!" The sparrows in the ivy about the windows fluttered—even Tom Sedley was chilled and pierced by that desolate scream.
"I'm very sorry, really, I'm awfully sorry," Tom exclaimed, finding himself, he knew not how, again on his feet, and gazing at the white, imploring face of the trembling old woman. "I really did not know—I had not an idea you felt such an interest in any of the family. If I had known, I should have been more careful. I'm shocked at what I've done."
"Oh! Arthur—oh! Arthur. He's gone—after all, after all. If we could have only met for one minute, just for one look." She was drawing back the window-curtain, looking towards the dark Pendillion and the starless sea. "He said he'd come again—he went—and my heart misgave me. I said, he'll never come again—my beautiful Arthur—never—never—never. Oh, darling, darling. If I could even see your grave."