“Reuben will take care of them, dearest.”
“Why, your voice shakes like your hands; and oh, how white you are. But you are glad to see us, I hope?”
“Gladder than I can say, Henriette.”
“I am glad you don’t call me Papillon. I have left off that ridiculous name, which I ought never to have permitted.”
“I doubt, mistress, you who know so much know what is in this letter,” said Sir John, staring at Fareham’s superscription as if he had come suddenly upon an adder.
“Nay, sir, I only know that my father was shut in his library for a long time writing, and was as white as my aunt is now when he brought it to me. ‘You and George, and your gouvernante and servants, are to go to the Manor Moat the day after to-morrow,’ he said, ‘and you are to give this letter into your grandfather’s hand.’ I have done my duty, and await your Honour’s pleasure. Our gouvernante is not the Frenchwoman. Father dismissed her for neglecting my education, and walking out after dark with Daniel Lettsome. ’Tis only Priscilla, who is something between a servant and a friend, and who does everything I tell her.”
“A pretty gouvernante!”
“Nay, sir, she is as plain as a pikestaff; that is one of her merits. Mademoiselle thought herself pretty, and angled for a rich husband. Please be so good as to read your letter, grandfather, for I believe it is about us.”
Sir John broke the seal, and began to read the letter with a frowning brow, which lightened as he read. Angela stood with her niece clasped in her arms, and watched her father’s countenance across the silky brown head that nestled against her bosom.
“SIR,—Were it not in the interests of others, who must needs hold a place in your affection second only to that they have in my heart, I should scarce presume to address you; but it is to the grandfather of my children I write, rather than to the gentleman whom I have so deeply offended. I look back, sir, and repent the violence of that unhappy night; but know no change in the melancholy passion that impelled me to crime. It would have been better for me had I been the worst rake-hell at Whitehall, than to have held myself aloof from the modish vices of my day, only to concentrate all my desires and affections there, where it was most sinful to place them.