At match-making he was likely to prove a bungler: for it was evident that match-making was in his mind.
“Never saw the handwriting before,” said he, in repetition, as he broke open the seal of the second epistle.
If the contents of the first had filled him with joy, those of the second produced an effect directly the opposite.
“’Sdeath!” exclaimed he, crushing the letter, as he finished reading it, and once more nervously springing to his feet. “Dead or living, that ill-starred brother of mine seems as if created to be a curse to me! While alive, always wanting money; and now that he is dead sending his son—a never-do-well, like himself—to trouble, and, perhaps, disgrace me.”
“Dear father!” said the young girl, startled more by his wild demeanour than what he was saying—for the words were muttered in a low voice, and rather in soliloquy—“has the other letter brought unpleasant news?”
“Ah! that it has. You may read for yourself.”
And once more seating himself, he tossed the unwelcome epistle across the table, and recommenced eating with apparent voracity—as if by that means to tranquillise his perturbed spirit.
Kate took up the rejected letter; and, smoothing out the paper, ran her eye over the contents.
The perusal did not require much time: for considering that the letter had made such a long journey, its contents were of the shortest:—
London, June 10, 18—.