explained that he had looked in to offer his best wishes, and to see if
he could give any assistance.

Poor Hepzibah, when she heard the kindly tone of his voice, began to
sob.

"Ah, Mr. Holgrave," she cried, "I never can go through with it! Never,
never, never! I wish I were dead in the old family tomb with all my
forefathers--yes, and with my brother, who had far better find me there
than here! I am too old, too feeble, and too hopeless! If old Maule's
ghost, or a descendant of his, could see me behind the counter to-day,
he would call it the fulfilment of his worst wishes. But I thank you for
your kindness, Mr. Holgrave, and will do my utmost to be a good
shopkeeper."

On Holgrave asking for half a dozen biscuits, Hepzibah put them into his
hand, but rejected the compensation.

"Let me be a lady a moment longer," she said, with a manner of antique
stateliness. "A Pyncheon must not--at all events, under her forefathers'
roof--receive money for a morsel of bread from her only friend."

As the day went on the poor lady blundered hopelessly with her
customers, and committed the most unheard-of errors, so that the whole
proceeds of her painful traffic amounted, at the close, to half a dozen
coppers.

That night the little country cousin, Phoebe Pyncheon, arrived at the
gloomy old house. Hepzibah knew that circumstances made it desirable for
the girl to establish herself in another home, but she was reluctant to