"What else could we do with it?" inquired her Ladyship.
"Live at it, to be sure," cried all three.
"Live at it!" repeated she, with a shriek of horror that vied with that of the spinsters—"Live at it! Live on a thriving farm! Live all my life in such a place as this! Oh! the very thought is enough to kill me!"
"There is no occasion to think or say any more about it," interrupted Henry in a calmer tone; and, glancing round on his aunts, "I therefore desire no more may be said on the subject."
"And is this really all? And have you got no money? And are we not going away?" gasped the disappointed Lady Juliana, as she gave way to a violent burst of tears, that terminated in a fit of hysterics; at sight of which, the good spinsters entirely forgot their wrath; and while one burnt feathers under her nose, and another held her hands, a third drenched her in floods of Lady Maclaughlan'shysteric water. After going through the regular routine, the lady's paroxysm subsided; and being carried to bed, she soon sobbed herself into a feverish slumber; in which state the harassed husband left her to attend a summons from his father.
CHAPTER XII.
"See what delight in sylvan scenes appear!"
Pope.
"Haply this life is best,
Sweetest to you, well corresponding
With your stiff age; but unto us it is
A cell of ignorance, a prison for a debtor."
Cymbeline.