Her grandly-formed features still suggested the idea of imperial
beauty--perhaps Jewish in its origin. When Emily said, "I never
heard him speak of you," the color flew into her pallid cheeks:
her dim eyes became alive again with a momentary light. She left
her seat on the bed, and, turning away, mastered the emotion that
shook her.

"How hot the night is!" she said: and sighed, and resumed the
subject with a steady countenance. "I am not surprised that your
father never mentioned me--to _you_." She spoke quietly, but her
face was paler than ever. She sat down again on the bed. "Is
there anything I can do for you," she asked, "before I go away?
Oh, I only mean some trifling service that would lay you under no
obligation, and would not oblige you to keep up your acquaintance
with me."

Her eyes--the dim black eyes that must once have been
irresistibly beautiful--looked at Emily so sadly that the
generous girl reproached herself for having doubted her father's
friend. "Are you thinking of _him_," she said gently, "when you
ask if you can be of service to me?"

Miss Jethro made no direct reply. "You were fond of your father?"
she added, in a whisper. "You told your schoolfellow that your
heart still aches when you speak of him."

"I only told her the truth," Emily answered simply.

Miss Jethro shuddered--on that hot night!--shuddered as if a
chill had struck her.