He interrupted me. “Late vicar? Is, then, my brother-in-law dead? or have they, which is a thing incredible, conferred preferment upon sheer piety?”
“Alas! sir,” I cried, with tears, “my father is dead.”
“Thy father, child!”
“Yes, sir; I am Kitty Pleydell, at your service.”
“Kitty Pleydell!” He bent over me across the table, and looked into my face not unkindly. “My sister’s child! then how——” He turned upon his clerk, who now stood with staring eyes and open mouth, chapfallen and terrified. “Fool!“ he thundered. “Get thee packing, lest I do thee a mischief!”
CHAPTER V.
HOW KITTY WITNESSED A FLEET WEDDING.
Then I pulled out my father’s letter, and gave it to him to read.
He took it, read it carefully, nodding gravely over each sentence, and then returned it to me.
“Lawrence, then,” he said softly, “Lawrence is dead! Lawrence Pleydell is dead! And I am living. Lawrence! He hath, without reasonable doubt, passed away in full assurance. He hath exchanged this world for a better. He hath gone to happiness. Nay, if such as he die not in faith, what hope remains for such sinners as ourselves? Then would it be better for those who dwell in the Liberties of the Fleet if they had never been born. So. My sister’s child. Hold up thy face, my dear.” He kissed me as he spoke, and held his hand under my chin so that he could look at me well. “There is more Pleydell than Shovel here. That is well, because the Pleydells are of gentle blood. And the daughter doth ever favour the father more than the mother. Favour him in thy life, child, as well as in thy features.