"Do not fear that slander shall drive you hence. Lady Montfort, you
know, is my cousin, but you know not--few do--how thoroughly generous and
gentle-hearted she is. I will speak of you to her,--oh! do not look
alarmed. She will take my word when I tell her, 'That is a good man;'
and if she ask more, it will be enough to say, 'Those who have known
better days are loth to speak to strangers of the past.'"

"I thank you earnestly, sincerely," said Waife, brightening up. "One
favour more: if you saw in the formal document shown to you, or retain on
your memory, the name of--of the person authorized to claim Sophy as his
child, you will not mention it to Lady Montfort. I am hot sure if ever
she heard that name, but she may have done so, and--and--" he paused a
moment, and seemed to muse; then went on, not concluding his sentence.
"You are so good to me, Mr. Morley, that I wish to confide in you as far
as I can. Now, you see, I am already an old man, and my chief object is
to raise up a friend for Sophy when I am gone,--a friend in her own sex,
sir. Oh, you cannot guess how I long, how I yearn, to view that child
under the holy fostering eyes of a woman. Perhaps if Lady Montfort saw
my pretty Sophy she might take a fancy to her. Oh, if she did! if she
did! And Sophy," added Waife, proudly, "has a right to respect. She is
not like me,--any hovel is good enough for me; but for her! Do you know
that I conceived that hope, that the hope helped to lead me back here
when, months ago, I was at Humberston, intent upon rescuing Sophy; and
saw--though," observed Waife, with a sly twitch of the muscles round his
mouth, "I had no right at that precise moment to be seeing anything--Lady
Montfort's humane fear for a blind old impostor, who was trying to save
his dog--a black dog, sir, who had dyed his hair--from her carriage
wheels. And the hope became stronger still, when, the first Sunday I
attended yon village church, I again saw that fair--wondrously fair--face