Miss March added, in a low tone, with downcast eyelids: "I am an orphan, and he was kind to my dear father." Abel Fletcher nodded--adjusted his spectacles--eyed her all over--and nodded again; slowly, gravely, with a satisfied inspection.

His hard gaze lingered, and softened while it lingered, on that young face, whereon was written simplicity, dignity, truth.
"If thee be a friend of John's, welcome to my house.

Wilt thee sit down ?" Offering his hand, with a mixture of kindness and ceremonious grace that I had never before seen in my Quaker father, he placed her in his own arm-chair.

How well I remember her sitting there, in her black silk pelisse, trimmed with the white fur she was so fond of wearing, and her riding-hat, the soft feathers of which drooped on her shoulder, trembling as she trembled.

For she did tremble very much.
Gradually the old man's perception opened to the facts before him.