said slowly, and, as it were, devouring him with her keen,
steadfast eyes,--"so you are Percival St. John! Welcome! I did not
know that we should ever meet. I have not sought you, you seek me!
Strange--yes, strange--that the young and the rich should seek the
suffering and the poor!"

Surprised and embarrassed by this singular greeting, Percival
halted abruptly in the middle of the room; and there was something
inexpressibly winning in his shy, yet graceful confusion. It seemed,
with silent eloquence, to apologize and to deprecate. And when, in his
silvery voice, scarcely yet tuned to the fulness of manhood, he said
feelingly, "Forgive me, madam, but my mother is not in England," the
excuse evinced such delicacy of idea, so exquisite a sense of high
breeding, that the calm assurance of worldly ease could not have more
attested the chivalry of the native gentleman.

"I have nothing to forgive, Mr. St. John," said Lucretia, with a
softened manner. "Pardon me rather that my infirmities do not allow me
to rise to receive you. This seat,--here,--next to me. You have a strong
likeness to your father."

Percival received this last remark as a compliment, and bowed. Then, as
he lifted his ingenuous brow, he took for the first time a steady view
of his new-found relation. The peculiarities of Lucretia's countenance
in youth had naturally deepened with middle age. The contour, always
too sharp and pronounced, was now strong and bony as a man's; the line
between the eyebrows was hollowed into a furrow. The eye retained its
old uneasy, sinister, sidelong glance, or at rare moments (as when
Percival entered), its searching penetration and assured command; but
the eyelids themselves, red and injected, as with grief or vigil, gave
something haggard and wild, whether to glance or gaze. Despite the
paralysis of the frame, the face, though pale and thin, showed no bodily
decay. A vigour surpassing the strength of woman might still be seen in
the play of the bold muscles, the firmness of the contracted lips. What
physicians call "vitality," and trace at once (if experienced) on the
physiognomy as the prognostic of long life, undulated restlessly in
every aspect of the face, every movement of those thin, nervous hands,
which, contrasting the rest of that motionless form, never seemed to be
at rest. The teeth were still white and regular, as in youth; and when
they shone out in speaking, gave a strange, unnatural freshness to a
face oth