As Milly and I were conjecturing what it might mean, and before the five
minutes had expired, Mary Quince entered.
'Wyat bid me tell you, Miss, your uncle wants you _this minute_.'
When I entered his room, Uncle Silas was seated at the table, with his desk
before him. He looked up. Could anything be more dignified, suffering, and
venerable?
'I sent for you, dear,' he said very gently, extending his thin, white
hand, and taking mine, which he held affectionately while he spoke,
'because I desire to have no secrets, and wish you thoroughly to know all
that concerns your own interests while subject to my guardianship; and I am
happy to think, my beloved niece, that you requite my candour. Oh, here is
the gentleman. Sit down, dear.'
Doctor Bryerly was advancing, as it seemed, to shake hands with Uncle
Silas, who, however, rose with a severe and haughty air, not the least
over-acted, and made him a slow, ceremonious bow. I wondered how the homely
Doctor could confront so tranquilly that astounding statue of hauteur.
A faint and weary smile, rather sad than comtemptuous, was the only sign he
showed of feeling his repulse.
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