She did not greatly love her sister, they were antagonistic and their
interests clashed, or she thought they did, but this sudden death was
awful. In a corner, pitiful to see, offering groans and ejaculated
prayers to heaven, sat the old clergymen, their father, his white hair
about his eyes. He was a weak, coarse-grained man, but in his own way
his clever and beautiful girl was dear to him, and this sight wrung his
soul as it had not been wrung for years.
"She's gone," he said continually, "she's gone; the Lord's will be done.
There must be another mistress at the school now. Seventy pounds a year
she will cost--seventy pounds a year!"
"Do be quiet, father," said Elizabeth sharply.
"Ay, ay, it is very well for you to tell me to be quiet. You are quiet
because you don't care. You never loved your sister. But I have loved
her since she was a little fair-haired child, and so did your poor
mother. 'Beatrice' was the last word she spoke."
"Be quiet, father!" said Elizabeth, still more sharply. The old man,
making no reply, sank back into a semi-torpor, rocking himself to and
fro upon his chair.
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