the poor old gentleman, who sat there, absorbed in his reflections,
fixed as a statue.

At length, rising from his chair and cautiously walking on tiptoe to the
end of the room, he stopped and listened at the closed door. "She
sleeps," said he, in a low voice; and, raising his eyes to heaven,
added, with a sigh, "may God protect her rest!" Then, returning to the
table, he took the lamp, and, opening a large safe which was imbedded in
the wall, he went down on his knees and drew forth some napkins and a
table-cloth, which he unfolded carefully to see whether they were torn
or stained. As he refolded the articles one after the other, a smile
betokened that he was pleased with his examination. Rising from this
task, he went back to the table, from the drawer of which he took a
piece of buckskin and whiting. Mashing the latter with a knife-handle,
he began to rub and polish several silver forks and spoons which were in
a basket. The salt-cellars and other small articles of table-service,
which were mostly of the same metal, were all subjected to a similar
process, and soon glittered brightly in the feeble lamplight.

While he was engaged in this strange work, the soul of the poor old man
was busy with a thousand conflicting thoughts and recollections. He was
constantly muttering to himself; and many a tear escaped from his lids
as he dreamed over the past and repeated the names of the loved and
lost!

"Poor brother!" ejaculated he; "but one man alone in the world knows
what I have done for thee, and yet that man accuses me of bad faith and
ingratitude! And thou, poor brother, art wandering in the icy solitudes
of America, a prey perhaps to sickness and suffering, while for months
no kindly look is fixed upon thee in that wilderness where thou earnest