ation in
those other eyes, twinkling with that annoying "did you?"

Amy Waring was certainly twenty-five, although Gabriel laughed and jeered
at any such statement. But mamma and the Family Bible were too much for
him. Lawrence Newt was certainly more than forty. But the Newt Family
Bible was under a lock of which the key lay in Mrs. Boniface Newt's
bureau, who, in a question of age, preferred tradition, which she could
judiciously guide, to Scripture. When Boniface Newt led Nancy Magot to
the altar, he recorded, in a large business hand, both the date of his
marriage and his wife's birth. She protested, it was vulgar. And when the
bridegroom inquired whether the vulgarity were in the fact of being born
or in recording it, she said: "Mr. Newt, I am ashamed of you," and locked
up the evidence.

There was a vague impression in the Newt family--Boniface had already
mentioned it to his son Abel--that there was something that Uncle
Lawrence never talked about--many things indeed, of course, but still
something in particular. Outside the family nothing was suspected.
Lawrence Newt was simply one of those incomprehensibly pleasant,
eccentric, benevolent men, whose mercantile credit was as good as Jacob
Van Boozenberg's, but who perversely went his own way. One of these ways
led to all kinds of poor people's houses; and it was upon a visit to the
widow of the clergyman to whom Boniface Newt had given eight dollars for
writing a tract entitled "Indiscriminate Almsgiving a Crime," that
Lawrence Newt had first met Amy Waring. As he was leaving money with the
poor woman to pay her rent, Amy came in with a basket of comfortable
sugars and teas. She carried the flowers in her face. Lawrence Newt was
almost blushing at being caught in the act of charity; and as he was
sliding past her to get out, he happened to look at her face, and
stopped.

"Bless my soul! my dear young lady, surely your name is Darro!"

The dear young lady smiled and colored, and replied,

"No, mine is not, but my mother's was."

"Of course it was. Those eyes of yours are the Darro eyes. Do you think I
do not know the Darro eyes when I see them?"

And he took Amy's hand, and said, "Whose daughter are you?"

"My name is Amy Waring."

"Oh! then you are Corinna's daughter. Your aunt Lucia married Mr. Bennet,
and--and--" Lawrence Newt's voice paused and hesitated for a moment,
"and--there was another."

There was something so tenderly respectful in the tone