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"I am much obliged to you, Mr. Pendril." With those words, she bowed, and gently pushed the manuscript back across the table; then turned to her sister. "Norah," she said, "if we both of us live to grow old, and if you ever forget all that we owe to Michael Vanstone come to me, and I will remind you." She rose and walked across the room by herself to the window. As she passed Mr.
It was Magdalen who spoke Magdalen, with a changeless stillness on her white face, and an icy resignation in her steady, grey eyes. From under the open window of the room in which Mr. Pendril had told his story this girl of eighteen had heard every word, and never once betrayed herself.
"I beg your pardon," replied Magdalen, quietly; "I won't ask any more." For the third time, Mr. Pendril returned to the business of the interview. "The servants must not be forgotten," he said. "They must be settled with and discharged: I will give them the necessary explanation before I leave. As for the house, no questions connected with it need trouble you.
"He has got the better of me at last," said the rugged old man. "There is one weak place left in me still and he has found it." Meanwhile, Mr. Pendril entered the shrubbery, and followed the path which led to the lonely garden and the desolate house. He was met at the door by the man-servant, who was apparently waiting in expectation of his arrival. "I have an appointment with Miss Garth.
The name written in the lower corner of the envelope was "William Pendril." The lawyer had arrived. Miss Garth opened the note. After a few first sentences of sympathy and condolence, the writer announced his arrival at Mr. Clare's; and then proceeded, apparently in his professional capacity, to make a very startling request. "If," he wrote, "any change for the better in Mrs.
"You have relieved your conscience," he said, addressing the lawyer. "Give her the right she claims. It is her right if she will have it." Mr. Pendril quietly took the written instructions from his pocket. "I have warned you," he said and handed the papers across the table without another word.
Pendril, that my father's brother had sent his written orders to London, and that you had a copy. Have you preserved it?" "Certainly." "Have you got it about you?" "I have." "May I see it?" Mr. Pendril hesitated, and looked uneasily from Magdalen to Miss Garth, and from Miss Garth back again to Magdalen. "Pray oblige me by not pressing your request," he said.
"It is surely enough that you know the result of the instructions. Why should you agitate yourself to no purpose by reading them? They are expressed so cruelly; they show such abominable want of feeling, that I really cannot prevail upon myself to let you see them." "I am sensible of your kindness, Mr. Pendril, in wishing to spare me pain. But I can bear pain; I promise to distress nobody.
Who could see anything but the ill-omened figure of Michael Vanstone, posted darkly on the verge of the present time and closing all the prospect that lay beyond him? ON the next morning but one, news was received from Mr. Pendril. The place of Michael Vanstone's residence on the Continent had been discovered.
"Bad news," he said. "I am an enemy to all unnecessary suspense. Plainness is kindness in such a case as this. I mean to be kind and I tell you plainly bad news." Mr. Pendril followed him. He shook hands, in silence, with Miss Garth and the two sisters, and took a seat near them. Mr. Clare placed himself apart on a chair by the window.
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