'Yes. She was
always very faithful to Marion. She was always very fond of her.
Pretty Marion! Poor Marion! Cheer up, Mistress - you are married
now, you know, Clemency.'
Clemency only sighed, and shook her head.
'Well, well! Wait till to-morrow,' said the lawyer, kindly.
'To-morrow can't bring back' the dead to life, Mister,' said
Clemency, sobbing.
'No. It can't do that, or it would bring back Mr. Craggs,
deceased,' returned the lawyer. 'But it may bring some soothing
circumstances; it may bring some comfort. Wait till to-morrow!'
So Clemency, shaking his proffered hand, said she would; and
Britain, who had been terribly cast down at sight of his despondent
wife (which was like the business hanging its head), said that was
right; and Mr. Snitchey and Michael Warden went up-stairs; and
there they were soon engaged in a conversation so cautiously
conducted, that no murmur of it was audible above the clatter of
plates and dishes, the hissing of the frying-pan, the bubbling of
saucepans, the low monotonous waltzing of the jack - with a
dreadful click every now and then as if it had met with some mortal
accident to its head, in a fit of giddiness - and all the other
preparations in the kitchen for their dinner.
To-morrow was a bright and peaceful day; and nowhere were the
autumn tints more beautifully seen, than from the quiet orchard of
the Doctor's house.
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