e's uncle, the prizefighter?

She felt curiosity, all the same. However, information might come,
unsought, as the ground thawed. A springlike mildness was in the
atmosphere of their acquaintance, and it began to tell on the ice, very
markedly, as they sat enjoying the firelight; candles blown out, and the
flicker of the wood-blaze making sport with visibility on the walls and
dresser--on the dominant willow-pattern of the latter, with its
occurrences of polished metal, and precious incidents of Worcester or
Bristol porcelain; or the pictorial wealth of the former, the portrait
of Lord Nelson, and the British Lion, and all the flags of all the world
in one frame; to say nothing of some rather woebegone Bible prints,
doing full justice to the beards of Susannah's elders, and the biceps of
Samson. On all these, and prominently on the sampler worked by Hephzibah
Marrable, 1672, a ship-of-war in full sail, with cannons firing off wool
in the same direction, and defeating the Dutch Fleet, presumably.
Perhaps the Duke of York's flagship.

The two had talked of many things. Of the great bull-dog who was such a
safeguard against thieves that they never felt insecure at night, and
were very careless in consequence about bolts and bars; and who had
investigated the visitor very carefully on her first arrival,
suspiciously, but seemed now to have given her his complete sanction. Of
the cat on the hearth and the Family at the Towers--small things and
large; but with a great satisfaction for old Maisie, when the statement
was made with absolute confidence that Mr. Torrens, who was said to be
the man of her young ladyship's choice, would recover his eyesight. Mrs.
Lamprey's version of Dr. Nash's pronouncement was conclusive, and was
conscientiously repeated, without exaggeration; causing heartfelt joy to
old Maisie, with a tendency to consider how far Mr. Torrens deserved his
good fortune, the moment his image was endowed with eyesight. That, you
remember, was the effect of Mrs. Lamprey's first communication
yesterday. Then Widow Thrale had read a letter from her son on the
_Agamemnon_, in the Black Sea, cheerfully forecasting an early collapse
of Russia before the prowess of the Allies, and an early triumphant
return of the Fleet with unlimited prize-money. Old Maisie had to envy
perforce this mother's pride in this son, his daring and his chivalry,
his invincibility by foes, his generosity to the poor and weak. Her envy
was forced