It was doubtful whether Mr. Castleford's messenger could reach
London in time for tidings to come down by the coach--far less did
we expect Clarence--and we had nearly finished the first course at
dinner, when we heard the front door open, and a voice speaking to
the butler. Emily screamed 'It's he! Oh mamma, may I?' and flew
out into the hall, dragging in a pale, worn and weary wight, all
dust and heat, having travelled down outside the coach on a broiling
day, and walked the rest of the way. He looked quite bewildered at
the rush at him; my father's 'Well done, Clarence,' and strong
clasp; and my mother's fervent kiss, and muttered something about
washing his hands.
Formal folks, such as we were, had to sit in our chairs; and when he
came back apologising for not dressing, as he had left his
portmanteau for the carrier, he looked so white and ill that we were
quite shocked, and began to realise what he had suffered. He could
not eat the food that was brought back for him, and allowed that his
head was aching dreadfully; but, after a glass of wine had been
administered, it was extracted that he had met Mr. Frith at the
office door, and been gruffly told that Mr. Castleford was
satisfied, and he might consider himself acquitted.
'And then I had your letter, sir, thank you,' said Clarence,
scarcely restraining his tears.
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