"I am here, dear Master Goodenough!" she said, kneeling beside him and covering the pale fingers in her gentle clasp.
"God bless thee, child!" and he drew her hand close towards his lips: "for thy sweet charity God bless—"
Death of Goodenough.
And in a smile of content the lips parted slightly, a low sigh broke from them, and Master Goodenough was dead.
CHAPTER XXIV.
LAWRENCE SLEEPS ON IT.
"Now, Friend What-d'ye-call-'em, are you going to accept his majesty's polite invitation? or d'ye mean to stand staring all day like a stuck pig, at your brother-porker's pate here?"
The dig in the ribs accompanying these words, which were rendered bewilderingly indistinct by reason of the quantity of the toothsome edibles he referred to, filling the speaker's mouth, materially assisted Lee to catch something of their signification; and he started from the reverie into which he had fallen. "Your majesty—" he began, looking round with dazed, uneasy eyes, and staggering forward a pace or two.
"Ha! ha! ha! That's excellent!" broke out a laughing chorus. "Your majesty! Hear the fellow! Are his wits clean gone? I' faith, he looks something like it! Majesty forsooth! There's none of it here, friend; unless we're to be having you for a change. Come, Master Up-in-the-clouds, out with you! Was ever such insolence! Out with you! D'ye hear?"
It was the most doubtful question in the world whether he did. If so, it was, at all events, without a spark of comprehending; and Lawrence Lee continued to lie back, pale and more than half senseless, in the king's chair, whither he had staggered forward as he had uttered those last words, and with a twist and a reel, sunk among its crimson cushions.