d how to carry himself.
Letty had picked up the stirrup, and was again hard at work with it; to
take it from her, and turn her out of the saddle-room, would scarcely
be a proper way of thanking her, scarcely an adequate mode of revealing
his estimate of the condescension of her ladyhood. For, although Letty
did make beds and chose to clean harness, Godfrey was gentleman enough
not to think her less of a lady--for the moment at least--because of
such doings: I will not say he had got so far on in the great doctrine
concerning the washing of hands as to be able to think her _more_ of a
lady for thus cleaning his stirrups. But he did see that to set the
fire-engine of indignant respect for womankind playing on the
individual woman was not the part of the man to whose service she was
humbling herself. He laid his hand on her bent head, and said:

"I ought to be a knight of the old times, Letty, to have a lady serve
me so."

"You're just as good, Cousin Godfrey," she rejoined, rubbing away.

He turned from her, and left her at her work.

He had taken no real notice of the girl before--had felt next to no
interest in her. Neither did he feel much now, save as owing her
something beyond mere acknowledgment. But was there anything now he
could do for her--anything in her he could help? He did not know. What
she really was, he could not tell. She was a fresh, bright girl--that
he seemed to have just discovered; and, as she sat polishing the
stirrup, her hair shaken about her shoulders, she looked engaging; but
whether she was one he could do anything for that was worth doing, was
hardly the less a question for those discoveries.

"There must be _something_ in the girl!" he said to himself--then
suddenly reflected that he had never seen a book in her hand, except
her prayer-book; how _was_ he to do anything for a girl like that? For
Godfrey knew no way of doing people good without the intervention of
books. How could he get near one that had no taste for the quintessence
of humanity? How was he to offer her the only help he had, when she
desired no such help? "But," he continued, reflecting further, "she may
have thirsted, may even now be athirst, without knowing that books are
the bottles of the water of life!" Perhaps, if he could make her drink
once, she would drink again. The difficulty was, to find out what sort
of spiritual drink would be most to her taste, and would most entice
her to more. There must be some seeds ly