"Hush! He is coming!" whispered Hepzibah. "Let him see you first,
Phoebe; for you are young and rosy, and cannot help letting a smile
break out. He always liked bright faces. And mine is old now, and the
tears are hardly dry on it. Draw the curtain a little, but let there be
a good deal of sunshine, too. He has had but little sunshine in his
life, poor Clifford; and, oh, what a black shadow! Poor--poor Clifford!"

There was a step in the passage-way, above stairs. It seemed to Phoebe
the same that she had heard in the night, as in a dream. Very slowly the
steps came downstairs, and paused for a long time at the door.

Hepzibah, unable to endure the suspense, rushed forward, threw open the
door, and led in the stranger by the hand. At the first glance Phoebe
saw an elderly man, in an old-fashioned dressing gown, with grey hair,
almost white, of an unusual length. The expression of his countenance
seemed to waver, glimmer, and nearly to die away, and feebly to recover
itself again.

"Dear Clifford," said Hepzibah, "this is our Cousin Phoebe, Arthur's
only child, you know. She has come from the country to stay with us a
while, for our old house has grown to be very lonely now."

"Phoebe? Arthur's child?" repeated the guest. "Ah, I forget! No matter.
She is very welcome." He seated himself in the place assigned him, and
looked strangely around. His eyes met Hepzibah's, and he seemed
bewildered and disgusted. "Is this you, Hepzibah?" he murmured sadly.
"How changed! how changed!"

"There is nothing but love here, Clifford," Hepzibah said
softly--"nothing but love. You are at home."