All the other gentlemen took the hint and dropped the pugnacious subject; but Sir Remnant was such a tough old tyrant, that there was no diverting him. He took a mighty pinch of snuff, rapped the corner of his box, and began again.
“Why, look you, Lorraine, at that girl of yours, as nice a girl as ever lived, and well brought up by her grandmother. A clever girl, too—I’ll be dashed if she isn’t. She has said many things that have made me laugh; and it takes a good joke to do that, I can tell you. But no will of her own—no judgment—no what I may call decision.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” said Sir Roland, dryly; “I thought my daughter had plenty of all those.”
“Of course you did. All men think that till they find their mistake out. Nurse my vittels, if there is any one thing a woman should know her own mind about, it would be her own marriage. But, gadzooks, gentlemen, Miss Lorraine over and over again declared that she would not have our Steenie; and to-morrow morning she will have him, as merry as a grig, sir!”
“Now, father,” began Captain Chapman; but as he spoke the screens were parted; and Trotman stood there, in all the importance of a great newsbearer.
“What do you mean, sir?” cried Colonel Clumps, whose sedentary arrangements were suddenly disturbed; “by gad, sir, if I only had my bamboo!”
“If you plaize, sir,” said Trotman, looking only at his master, “there be very bad news indeed. Miss Halice have adrowned herself in the Woeburn; and her corpse be at Bottler, the pigman’s, dead.”
“Good God!” cried the Rector; and the men either started to their feet, or fell back on their chairs according to their constitution. Sir Roland alone sat as firm as a rock.
“Upon what authority, au-thor-i-ty——” Sir Roland neither finished that sentence, nor began another. His face became livid; his under-jaw fell; he rolled on his side, and lay there. As if by a hand direct from heaven, he was struck with palsy.
