im in the warmth of her
expression,--of which old Barty was well aware. He hated, and knew
that he was hated in return. And he knew, or thought that he knew,
that his enemy was not a woman to relent because old age and weakness
and the fear of death were coming on her. His enemy, with all her
faults, was no coward. It could not be that now at the eleventh hour
she should desire to reconcile him by any act of tardy justice,--nor
did he wish to be reconciled at this the eleventh hour. His hatred
was a pleasant excitement to him. His abuse of Miss Stanbury was a
chosen recreation. His unuttered daily curse, as he looked over to
her door, was a relief to him. Nevertheless he would go. As Brooke
had said,--no harm could come of his going. He would go, and at least
listen to her proposition.

About seven in the evening his knock was heard at the door. Miss
Stanbury was sitting in the small up-stairs parlour, dressed in her
second best gown, and was prepared with considerable stiffness and
state for the occasion. Dorothy was with her, but was desired in a
quick voice to hurry away the moment the knock was heard, as though
old Barty would have jumped from the hall door into the room at
a bound. Dorothy collected herself with a little start, and went
without a word. She had heard much of Barty Burgess, but had never
spoken to him, and was subject to a feeling of great awe when she
would remember that the grim old man of whom she had heard so much
evil would soon be her uncle. According to arrangement, Mr. Burgess
was shewn up-stairs by his nephew. Barty Burgess had been born in
this very house, but had not been inside the walls of it for more
than thirty years. He also was somewhat awed by the occasion, and
followed his nephew without a word. Brooke was to remain at hand,
so that he might be summoned should he be wanted; but it had been
decided by Miss Stanbury that he should not be present at the
interview. As soon as her visitor entered the room she rose in a
stately way, and curtseyed, propping herself with one hand upon the
table as she did so. She looked him full in the face meanwhile, and
curtseying a second time asked him to seat himself in a chair which
had been prepared for him. She did it all very well, and it may be
surmised that she had rehearsed the little scene, perhaps more than
once, when nobody was looking at her. He bowed, and walked round to
the chair and seated himself; but finding that he was so placed that