My uncle rose, gaunt and venerable, and
with a harsh and severe countenance. He did not offer his hand; he made me
a kind of bow, more of repulsion than of respect. He remained in a standing
position, supporting his crooked frame by his hand, which he leaned on a
despatch-box; he glared on me steadily with his wild phosphoric eyes, from
under the dark brows I have described to you, now corrugated in lines
indescribably stern.
'You shall join my daughter at the Pension, in France; Madame de la
Rougierre shall accompany you,' said my uncle, delivering his directions
with the stern monotony and the measured pauses of a person dictating an
important despatch to a secretary.' Old Mrs. Quince shall follow with me,
or, if alone, in a week. You shall pass to-night in London; to-morrow night
you proceed thence to Dover, and cross by the mail-packet. You shall now
sit down and write a letter to your cousin Monica Knollys, which I will
first read and then despatch. Tomorrow you shall write a note to Lady
Knollys, from _London_, telling her how you have got over so much of your
journey, and that you cannot write from Dover, as you must instantly start
by the packet on reaching it; and that until my affairs are a little
settled, you cannot write to her from France, as it is of high importance
to my safety that no clue should exist as to our address.
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