him into every house in the parish, he was so proud of him. He
never walked out without Peter's arm to lean upon. Deborah used to
smile (I don't think we ever laughed again after my mother's
death), and say she was quite put in a corner. Not but what my
father always wanted her when there was letter-writing or reading
to be done, or anything to be settled."

"And then?" said I, after a pause.

"Then Peter went to sea again; and, by-and-by, my father died,
blessing us both, and thanking Deborah for all she had been to him;
and, of course, our circumstances were changed; and, instead of
living at the rectory, and keeping three maids and a man, we had to
come to this small house, and be content with a servant-of-all-
work; but, as Deborah used to say, we have always lived genteelly,
even if circumstances have compelled us to simplicity. Poor
Deborah!"

"And Mr Peter?" asked I.

"Oh, there was some great war in India--I forget what they call it-
-and we have never heard of Peter since then. I believe he is dead
myself; and it sometimes fidgets me that we have never put on
mourning for him. And then again, when I sit by myself, and all
the house is still, I think I hear his step coming up the street,
and my heart begins to flutter and beat; but the sound always goes
past--and Peter never comes.

"That's Martha back? No! I'LL go, my dear; I can always find my
way in the dark, you know. And a blow of fresh air at the door