nd, and in and in and in, and to involve itself like a
corkscrew twirled upon a table, without getting any nearer to anything,
when Harriet appeared returning. He rose up as she advanced, and stood
with his head uncovered.

'You are come again, Sir!' she said, faltering.

'I take that liberty,' he answered. 'May I ask for five minutes of your
leisure?'

After a moment's hesitation, she opened the door, and gave him admission
to the little parlour. The gentleman sat down there, drew his chair
to the table over against her, and said, in a voice that perfectly
corresponded to his appearance, and with a simplicity that was very
engaging:

'Miss Harriet, you cannot be proud. You signified to me, when I called
t'other morning, that you were. Pardon me if I say that I looked into
your face while you spoke, and that it contradicted you. I look into
it again,' he added, laying his hand gently on her arm, for an instant,
'and it contradicts you more and more.'

She was somewhat confused and agitated, and could make no ready answer.

'It is the mirror of truth,' said her visitor, 'and gentleness. Excuse
my trusting to it, and returning.'

His manner of saying these words, divested them entirely of the
character of compliments. It was so plain, grave, unaffected, and
sincere, that she bent her head, as if at once to thank him, and
acknowledge his sincerity.

'The disparity between our ages,' said the gentleman, 'and the plainness
of my purpose, empower me, I am glad to think, to speak my mind. That is
my mind; and so you see me for the second time.'

'There is a kind of pride, Sir,' she returned, after a moment's silence,
'or what may be supposed to be pride, which is mere duty. I hope I
cherish no other.'

'For yourself,' he said.

'For myself.'

'But--pardon me--' suggested the gentleman. 'For your brother John?'

'Proud of his love, I am,' said Harriet, looking full upon her visitor,
and changing her manner on the instant--not that it was less composed
and quiet, but that there was a deep impassioned earnestness in it that
made the very tremble in her voice a part of her firmness, 'and proud of
him. Sir, you who strangely know the story of his life, and repeated it
to me when you were here last--'

'Merely to make my way into your confidence,' interposed the gentleman.
'For heaven's sake, don't suppose--'

'I am sure,' she said, 'you revived it, in my hearing, with a kind and
good purpose. I am quite sure of