'He reminded me painfully of him who is gone, whom we
name not,' said the doctor to pretty Lilias, when he got home; he has
his pale, delicately-formed features, with a shadow of his evil
passions too, and his mother's large, sad eyes.'
And an elderly clergyman, in surplice, band, and white wig, with a hard,
yellow, furrowed face, hovered in, like a white bird of night, from the
darkness behind, and was introduced to Dr. Walsingham, and whispered for
a while to Mr. Irons, and then to Bob Martin, who had two short forms
placed transversely in the aisle to receive what was coming, and a
shovel full of earth--all ready. So, while the angular clergyman ruffled
into the front of the pew, with Irons on one side, a little in the rear,
both books open; the plump little undertaker, diffusing a steam from his
moist garments, making a prismatic halo round the candles and lanterns,
as he moved successively by them, whispered a word or two to the young
gentleman [Mr. Mervyn, the doctor called him], and Mr. Mervyn
disappeared. Dr. Walsingham and John Tracy got into contiguous seats,
and Bob Martin went out to lend a hand.
Pages:
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52