a West Indian papist; turns one; dies with his wife, or, at least, soon
after her leaving another ne'er-do-weel on my hands. I wish you'd all
gone to purgatory together. To be shut up in my old days with two wild
papists is abominable!" muttered the old man, slamming the ledgers
together, until every thing on the table danced. He pushed back his
chair, and in another moment the door opened, and a tall, slender,
beautiful girl entered, clad in deep mourning, with a wealth of golden
curls rolling over her transparently fair cheeks. She came with a
graceful, but timid air, towards Mr. Stillinghast; and holding out her
hand, said in a low, sweet tone,

"My uncle?"

"Yes, I have the misfortune to be your uncle; how do you do?"

"I am well, sir, I thank you," she replied, whilst she cast down her
eyes to conceal the tears which suffused them.

"I won't pretend," he said, at last, "to say you are welcome, or that I
am glad to see you, because I should lie; but you are here now, and I
can't help it, neither can you, I suppose; therefore, settle yourself
as quickly as possible in your new way of living. _She_ will show you
what is necessary, and both of you keep as much out of my way as
possible." He then took his candlestick, lighted his candle, and
retired, leaving the poor girl standing with a frightened, heart-broken
look, in the middle of the floor. For a moment she looked after him;
then a sharp cry burst from her lips, and she turned to rush out into
the wintry storm, when she suddenly felt herself enfolded in some one's
arms, who led her to the warmest corner of the sofa, untied her bonnet,
folded back the dishevelled curls, and kissed the tears away from her