took charge of this letter; he brought it in person to Laughton, and
delivered it to Sir Miles. Whatever his errors, the old baronet was no
common man. He was not vindictive, though he could not be called
forgiving. He had considered his conduct to his sister a duty owed to
his name and ancestors; she had placed herself and her youngest child out
of the pale of his family. He would not receive as his niece the grand-
daughter of a silk-mercer. The relationship was extinct, as, in certain
countries, nobility is forfeited by a union with an inferior class. But,
niece or not, here was a claim to humanity and benevolence, and never yet
had appeal been made by suffering to his heart and purse in vain.

He bowed his head over the letter as his eye came to the last line, and
remained silent so long that the clergyman at last, moved and hopeful,
approached and took his hand. It was the impulse of a good man and a
good priest. Sir Miles looked up in surprise; but the calm, pitying face
bent on him repelled all return of pride.

"Sir," he said tremulously, and he pressed the hand that grasped his own,
"I thank you. I am not fit at this moment to decide what to do; to-
morrow you shall know. And the man died poor,--not in want, not in
want?"

"Comfort yourself, worthy sir; he had at the last all that sickness and
death require, except one assurance, which I ventured to whisper to him,-
-I trust not too rashly,--that his daughter would not be left
unprotected. And I pray you to reflect, my dear sir, that--"

Sir Miles did not wait for the conclusion of the sentence; he rose
abruptly, and left the room. Mr. Fielden (so the good priest was named)
felt confident of the success of his mission; but to win it the more