He did not attend to see the effect of his
words, but sat down again, and seemed to be
absorbed in his book in an instant. Perhaps he
knew that his word was law with his grim
mother, for he had hardly ceased speaking
before she had pointed to a wooden settle; and
smoothing the lines on her countenance, she said,
"What Manasseh says is true. Sit down here,
while I bid Faith and Nattee get food ready;
and meanwhile I will go tell my husband that
one who calls herself his sister's child is come
over to pay him a visit."

She went to the door leading into the kitchen,
and gave some directions to the elder girl, whom
Lois now knew to be the daughter of the house.
Faith stood impassive, while her mother spoke,
scarcely caring to look at the newly arrived
strangers. She was like her brother Manasseh
in complexion, but had handsomer features, and
large, mysterious-looking eyes, as Lois saw,
when once she lifted them up, and took in, as it
were, the aspect of the sea-captain and her
cousin with one swift searching look. About
the stiff, tall, angular mother, and the scarce
less pliant figure of the daughter, a girl of twelve
years old, or thereabouts, played all manner of
impish antics, unheeded by them, as if it were
her accustomed habit to peep about, now under
their arms, now at this side, now at that, making
grimaces all the while at Lois and Captain
Holdernesse, who sat facing the door, weary, and
somewhat disheartened by their reception. The
captain pulled out tobacco, and began to chew
it by way of consolation; but in a moment or
two his usual elasticity of spirit came to his
rescue, and he said in a low voice to Lois:

"That scoundrel Elias, I will give it him! If
the letter had but been delivered thou wouldst
have had a different kind of welcome; but as soon
as I have had some victuals I will go out and
find the lad, and bring back the letter, and that
will make all right, my wench. Nay, don't be
down-hearted, for I cannot stand women's tears.
Thou'rt just worn out with the shaking and the
want of food."

Lois brushed away her tears, and looking
round to try and divert her thoughts by fixing
them on present objects, she caught her cousin
Manasseh' s deep-set eyes furtively watching her.
It was with no unfriendly gaze, yet it made Lois
uncomfortable, particularly as he did not
withdraw his looks after he must have seen that she
observed him. She was glad when her aunt
called her into an inner room to see her uncle,
and she escaped from the steady observance of
her gloomy, silent cousin.

Ralph Hickson was much older than his wife,
and his illness made him look older still. He
had never had the force of character that Grace,
his spouse, possessed, and age and indisposition
had now rendered him almost childish at times.
But his nature was affectionate, and stretching
out his trembling arms from where he lay
bedridden, he gave Lois an unhesitating welcome,
never waiting for the confirmation of the missing
letter before he acknowledged her to be his
niece.

"Oh! 'tis kind in thee to come all across
the sea to make acquaintance with thine uncle;
kind in Sister Barclay to spare thee!"

Lois had to tell him that there was no one
living to miss her at home in England; that in
fact she had no home in England, no father nor
mother left upon earth , and that she had been
bidden by her mother's last words to seek him
out, and ask him for a home. Her words came
up, half choked, from a heavy heart, and his
dulled wits could not take their meaning in
without several repetitions; and then he cried
like a child, rather at his own loss of a sister,
whom lie had not seen for more than twenty
years, than at that of the orphan's standing
before him, trying hard not to cry, but to start
bravely in this new strange home. What most
of all helped Lois in her self-restraint was her
aunt's unsympathetic look. Born and bred in
New England, Grace Hickson had a kind of
jealous dislike to her husband's English
relations, which had increased since of late years
his weakened mind yearned after them, and he
forgot the good reason he had had for his self-
exile, and moaned over the decision which had
led to it as the great mistake of his life.
"Come," said she, " it strikes me that in all this
sorrow for the loss of one who died full of years
ye are forgetting in Whose hands life and death
are!"

True words, but ill-spoken at that time.
Lois looked up at her with a scarcely disguised
indignation; which increased as she heard the
contemptuous tone in which her aunt went on
talking to Elias Hickson, even while she was
arranging his bed with a regard to his greater
comfort.

"One would think thou wert a godless man.
by the moan thou art always making over spilt
milk, and truth is, thou art but childish in thine
old age. When we were wed, thou left all things
to the Lord; I would never have married thee
else. Nay, lass," said she, catching the expression
on Lois's face, " thou art never going to brow-
beat me with thine angry looks. I do my duty
as I read it, and there is never a man in Salem
that dare speak a word to Grace Hickson about
either her works or her faith. Godly Mr. Cotton
Mather hath said that even he might learn of
me; and I would advise thee rather to humble
thyself, and see if the Lord may not convert
thee from thy ways, since he has sent thee to
dwell, as it were, in Zion, where the precious
dew falls daily on Aaron's beard."

Lois felt ashamed and sorry to find that her
aunt had so truly interpreted the momentary
expression of her features; she blamed herself a
little for the feeling that had caused that
expression, trying to think how much her aunt
might have been troubled with something before
the unexpected irruption of the strangers, and
again hoping that the remembrance of this little
misunderstanding would soon pass away. So
she endeavoured to reassure herself, and not to
give way at her uncle's tender trembling pressure
of her hand, as, at her aunt's bidding, she wished
him good night, and returned into the outer, or