her. In reality, she was overwhelmed with loneliness and melancholy.
The aspect of the grounds below and of the drawing-room had struck a
chill to her heart. This great drear house oppressed her, and the
melancholy with which she had left Plympton Terrace now became
intensified. The gloom that had overwhelmed her father seemed to rest
upon her father's house, and descended thence upon her own spirit,
strong and brave though it was.

In the midst of her melancholy thoughts she was startled at the sound of
a low sigh immediately behind her. She turned hastily, and saw a man
standing there, who had entered the room so silently that, in her
abstraction, she had not heard him. He was now standing about half-way
between her and the door, and his eyes were fixed upon her with
something of that same earnest scrutiny which she had already observed
in the gaze of Mrs. Dunbar. One glance at this man was sufficient to
show her that it was no servant, and that it could be no other than
Wiggins himself. He was not a man, however, who could be dismissed with
a glance. There was something in him which compelled a further survey,
and Edith found herself filled with a certain indefinable wonder as she
looked at him. His eyes were fixed on her; her eyes were fixed on him;
and they both looked upon each other in silence.

He was a man who might once have been tall, but now was stooping so that
his original height was concealed. He was plainly dressed, and his coat
of some thin black stuff hung loosely about him. He wore slippers, which
served to account for his noiseless entrance. Yet it was not things
like these that Edith noticed at that time, but rather the face that now
appeared before her.

It was a face which is only met with once in a lifetime?--a face which