poor little Sophy to be given up to the care of a
father. I guess! of that father you would not speak ill to me; yet from
that father you would save your grandchild. Say no more. And yon quiet
home, your humble employment, really content you?"

"Oh, if such a life can but last! Sophy is so well, so cheerful, so
happy. Did not you bear her singing the other day? She never used
to sing! But we had not been here a week when song broke out from
her,--untaught, as from a bird. But if any ill report of me travel
hither from Gatesboro' or elsewhere, we should be sent away, and the
bird would be mute in my thorn-tree: Sophy would sing no more."

"Do not fear that slander shall drive you hence. Lady Montfort, you
know, is my cousin, but you know not--few do--how thoroughly generous
and gentle-hearted she is. I will speak of you to her,--oh! do not look
alarmed. She will take my word when I tell her, 'That is a good man;'
and if she ask more, it will be enough to say, 'Those who have known
better days are loth to speak to strangers of the past.'"

"I thank you earnestly, sincerely," said Waife, brightening up. "One
favour more: if you saw in the formal document shown to you, or retain
on your memory, the name of--of the person authorized to claim Sophy as
his child, you will not mention it to Lady Montfort. I am hot sure
if ever she heard that name, but she may have done so, and--and--" he
paused a moment, and seemed to muse; then went on, not concluding his
sentence. "You are so good to me, Mr. Morley, that I wish to confide in
you as far as I can. Now, you see, I am already an old man, and my chief
object is to raise up a friend for Sophy when I am gone,--a friend in
her own sex, sir. Oh, you cannot guess how I long, how I yearn, to view
that child under the holy fostering eyes of a woman. Perhaps if Lady
Montfort saw my pretty Sophy she might take a fancy to her. Oh, if
she did! if she did! And Sophy," added Waife, proudly, "has a right to
respect. She is not like me,--any hovel is good enough for me; but for
her! Do you know that I conceived that hope, that the hope helped to
lead me back here when, months ago, I was at Humberston, intent upon
rescuing Sophy; and saw--though," observed Waife, with a sly twitch of
the muscles round his mouth, "I had no right at that precise moment
to be seeing anything--Lady Montfort's humane fear for a blind old
impostor, who was trying to save his dog--a black dog, sir, who had dyed
his h