Charlotte Yonge - Chantry House

Clarence interrupted in the wavering voice we knew so well, but growing clearer and stronger.

‘Thank you, Edward, but—but—no, I can’t. There’s the Sacrament to-morrow.’

‘Oh—h!’ said Griff, in an indescribable tone. But he will never believe you, nor let you go.’

‘Better so,’ said Clarence, half choked, ‘than go profanely—deceiving—or not knowing whether I shall—’

Just then we heard our father wishing the other gentlemen good-night, and to our surprise Clarence opened the door, though he was deadly white and with dew starting on his forehead.

My father turned good-naturedly. ‘Boys, boys, you are glad to be together, but mamma won’t have you talking here all night, keeping her baby up.’

‘Sir,’ said Clarence, holding by the rail of the bed, ‘I was waiting for you. I have something to tell you—’

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