A little girl, who was Mrs. Pendennis's adopted daughter, the child of
a dear old friend, peered for a moment under the blinds as the chaise
came up, opened the door from the stairs into the hall, and there
taking Arthur's hand silently as he stooped down to kiss her, led him
upstairs to his mother. What passed between that lady and the boy is
not of import; a veil should be thrown over those sacred emotions of
love and grief.
As for Arthur Pendennis, after that awful shock which the sight of his
dead father must have produced on him, and the pity and feeling which
such an event no doubt occasioned, I am not sure that in the very moment
of the grief, and as he embraced his mother and tenderly consoled her and
promised to love her forever, there was not springing up in his breast a
sort of secret triumph and exultation. He was the chief now and lord. He
was Pendennis; and all round about him were his servants and handmaids.
"You'll never send me away," little Laura said, tripping by him and
holding his hand. "You won't send me to school, will you, Arthur?"
Arthur kissed her and patted her head. No, she shouldn't go to school. As
for going himself that was quite out of the question. He had determined
that his life should be all holidays for the future; that he wouldn't get
up till he liked, or stand the bullying of the Doctor any more; and made
a hundred such day-dreams and resolves for the future.
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