"I hear the carriage.

I will bring Mr.John in." He returned in a minute or two, accompanied by a tall and gaunt individual, who, in his black clothes and white necktie, looked a cross between a superior undertaker and a Methodist preacher.

His features were strongly marked, and the expression of his countenance was both severe and melancholy, and, judging by his expression and his voice, which was harsh and lachrymose, his particular form of religion did not appear to afford him either amusement or consolation.
"This is your cousin, Mr.John Heron," said poor Mr.Wordley, who was evidently suffering from the effects of his few minutes' conversation with that gentleman.
Mr.John Heron surveyed the slight figure and white face with its sad, star-like eyes--surveyed it with a grim kind of severity, which was probably intended for sympathy, and extending a cold, damp hand, which resembled an extremely bony shoulder of mutton, said, in a rasping, melancholy voice: "How do you do, Ida?
I trust you are bearing your burden as becomes a Christian.

We are born to sorrow.

The train was three-quarters of an hour late." "I am sorry," said Ida in her low voice, leaving him to judge whether she expressed regret for our birthright of misery or the lateness of the train.