muslin in her hand claimed but a small part of her attention. Sometimes
she gave a stitch or two; but then followed a long gaze out of the
window, across the damp gravel and plushy lawn, towards the white gate
under the leafless larches. Again with an impatient sigh she would
address herself to her sewing, but once more her attention would
wander to the darkening garden; so at length she rose, and leaning
against the window, began to watch the white gate once more.

But now she starts, and her face brightens up, as the gate swings on
its hinges, and a tall man comes with rapid eager step up the walk.
John moves uneasily in his sleep, but unnoticed by her, for she stands
back in the shadow of the curtain, and eagerly watches the new comer in
his approach. Her father sits up in his chair, and after looking sadly
at her for a moment, then sinks back with a sigh, as though he would
wish to go to sleep again and wake no more.

The maid, bringing in candles, met the new comer at the door, and,
carrying in the lights before him, announced--

"Mr. George Hawker."

I remember his face indistinctly as it was then. I remember it far
better as it was twenty years after. Yet I must try to recall it for
you as well as I can, for we shall have much to do with this man before
the end. As the light from the candles fell upon his figure while he
stood in the doorway, any man or woman who saw it would have exclaimed
immediately, "What a handsome fellow!" and with justice; for if
perfectly regular features, splendid red and brown complexion,
faultless white teeth, and the finest head of curling black hair I ever
saw, could make him handsome, handsome he was without doubt. And yet