received so kindly by Mr. Snow and Mrs. Snow and the three Misses Snow,
that she sat down and unburdened herself--first, of course, as regarded
Mr. Robert Belcher, and second, as concerned the Benedicts, father and
son.

The position of Mr. Belcher was one which inspired the minister with
caution, but the atmosphere was freer in his house than in that of the
proprietor. The vocal engine whose wheels had slipped upon the track
with many a whirr, as she started her train in the great house on the
hill, found a down grade, and went off easily. Mr. Snow sat in his
arm-chair, his elbows resting on either support, the thumb and every
finger of each hand touching its twin at the point, and forming a kind
of gateway in front of his heart, which seemed to shut out or let in
conviction at his will. Mrs. Snow and the girls, whose admiration of
Miss Butterworth for having dared to invade Mr. Belcher's library was
unbounded, dropped their work, and listened with eager attention. Mr.
Snow opened the gate occasionally to let in a statement, but for the
most part kept it closed. The judicial attitude, the imperturbable
spectacles, the long, pale face and white cravat did not prevent Miss
Butterworth from "freeing her mind;" and when she finished the task, a
good deal had been made of the case of the insane paupers of Sevenoaks,
and there was very little left of Mr. Robert Belcher and Mr. Thomas
Buffum.

At the close of her account of what she had seen at the poor-house, and
what had passed between her and the great proprietor, Mr. Snow cast his
eyes up to the ceiling, pursed his lips, and somewhere in the
profundities of his nature, or in some celestial laboratory, unseen by
any eyes but his own, prepared his judgments.