As soon as her
answer, promising to be punctual to the appointment, had reached
me, I took George into my study--left him in my place to plead
his own cause--and stole away, five minutes before the half hour,
to join my brothers in the breakfast-room.
Although the sense of my own happiness disposed me to take the
brightest view of my son's chances, I must nevertheless
acknowledge that some nervous anxieties still fluttered about my
heart while the slow minutes of suspense were counting themselves
out in the breakfast-room. I had as little attention to spare for
Owen's quiet prognostications of success as for Morgan's pitiless
sarcasms on love, courtship, and matrimony. A quarter of an hour
elapsed--then twenty minutes. The hand moved on, and the clock
pointed to five minutes to eight, before I heard the study door
open, and before the sound of rapidly-advancing footsteps warned
me that George was coming into the room.
His beaming face told the good news before a word could be spoken
on either side. The excess of his happiness literally and truly
deprived him of speech. He stood eagerly looking at us all three,
with outstretched hands and glistening eyes.
"Have I folded up my surplice forever," asked Owen, "or am I to
wear it once again, George, in your service?"
"Answer this question first," interposed Morgan, with a look of
grim anxiety.
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