"Dear bless me!" quoth Mrs. Faringfield, looking distressed. "More calamity, I vow."
In a moment we heard Mr. Faringfield's voice raised in a vehement "No, sir!" Then the library door was reopened, and he returned to us, followed by Cornelius, who was saying in his mildest voice: "But I protest, sir—I entreat—he is a changed man, I assure you."
"Changed for the worse, I make no doubt," returned the angry merchant. "Let him not darken my door. If it weren't Sunday, I should send for a constable this moment."
"What is it?" cried Mrs. Faringfield. "Sure it can't be—that boy again!"
"Mr. Edward, madam," said the tutor.
"Dear, dear, what a day! What a terrible day! And Sunday, too!" moaned the lady, lying back in her chair, completely crushed, as if the last blow of fate had fallen.
"He arrived in the Sarah brig, which anchored yesterday evening," explained Mr. Cornelius, "but he didn't come ashore till this morning."
"He thought Sunday safer," said Mr. Faringfield, with scornful derision.
"I was returning from my service, when I met him," continued the tutor. "He was at the Faringfield wharf, inquiring after the health of the family, of Meadows the watchman. I—er—persuaded him to come home with me."
"You mean, sir, he persuaded you to come and intercede for him," said Mr. Faringfield.