We had brought in our basket
two or three of those splendid apples for which Bartram was famous.

I hesitated to go near her, these Hawkeses, Beauty and Pegtop, were such
savages. So I rolled the apples gently along the ground to her feet.

She continued to look doggedly at us with the same expression, and kicked
away the apples sullenly that approached her feet. Then, wiping her temple
and forehead in her apron, without a word, she turned and walked slowly
away.

'Poor thing! I'm afraid she leads a hard life. What strange, repulsive
people they are!'

When we reached home, at the head of the great staircase old L'Amour was
awaiting me; and with a courtesy, and very respectfully, she informed me
that the Master would be happy to see me.

Could it be about my evidence as to the arrival of the mysterious chaise
that he summoned me to this interview? Gentle as were his ways, there was
something undefinable about Uncle Silas which inspired fear; and I should
have liked few things less than meeting his gaze in the character of a
culprit.

There was an uncertainty, too, as to the state in which I might find him,
and a positive horror of beholding him again in the condition in which I
had last seen him.

I entered the room, then, in some trepidation, but was instantly relieved.
Uncle Silas was in the same health apparently, and, as nearly as I could
recollect it, in precisely the same rather handsome though negligent garb
in which I had first seen him.

Doctor Bryerly--what a marked and vulgar contrast, and yet, somehow, how
reassuring!--sat at the table near him, and was tying up papers. His eyes
watched me, I thought, with an anxious scrutiny as I approached; and I
think it was not until I had saluted him that he recollected suddenly that
he had not seen me before at Bartram, and stood up and greeted me in his
usual abrupt and somewhat familiar way. It was vulgar and not cordial, and
yet it was honest and indefinably kind. Up rose my uncle, that strangely
venerable, pale portrait, in his loose Rembrandt black velvet. How gentle,
how benignant, how unearthly, and inscrutable!

'I need not say how she is. Those lilies and roses, Doctor Bryerly, speak
their own beautiful praises of the air of Bartram. I almost regret that her
carriage will be home so soon. I only hope it may not abridge her rambles.
It positively does me good to look at her. It is the glow of flowers in
winter, and the fragrance of a field which the L