tic
sound, however,--neither a cough nor a hem, but a kind of rumbling and
reverberating spasm in somebody's capacious depth of chest;--impelled
her to hurry forward, with that aspect of fierce faint-heartedness so
common to women in cases of perilous emergency. Few of her sex, on
such occasions, have ever looked so terrible as our poor scowling
Hepzibah. But the visitor quietly closed the shop-door behind him,
stood up his umbrella against the counter, and turned a visage of
composed benignity, to meet the alarm and anger which his appearance
had excited.

Hepzibah's presentiment had not deceived her. It was no other than
Judge Pyncheon, who, after in vain trying the front door, had now
effected his entrance into the shop.

"How do you do, Cousin Hepzibah?--and how does this most inclement
weather affect our poor Clifford?" began the Judge; and wonderful it
seemed, indeed, that the easterly storm was not put to shame, or, at
any rate, a little mollified, by the genial benevolence of his smile.
"I could not rest without calling to ask, once more, whether I can in
any manner promote his comfort, or your own."

"You can do nothing," said Hepzibah, controlling her agitation as well
as she could. "I devote myself to Clifford. He has every comfort
which his situation admits of."

"But allow me to suggest, dear cousin," rejoined the Judge, "you
err,--in all affection and kindness, no doubt, and with the very best
intentions,--but you do err, nevertheless, in keeping your brother so
secluded. Why insulate him thus from all sympathy and kindness?
Clifford, alas! has had too much of solitude. Now let him try
society,--the society, that is to say, of kindred and old friends. Let
me, for instance, but see Clifford, and I will answer for the good
effect of the interview."

"You cannot see him," answered Hepzibah. "Clifford has kept his bed
since yesterday."

"What! How! Is he ill?" exclaimed Judge Pyncheon, starting with what
seemed to be angry alarm; for the very frown of the old Puritan
darkened through the room as he spoke. "Nay, then, I must and will see
him! What if he should die?"

"He is in no danger of death," said Hepzibah,--and added, with
bitterness that she could repress no longer, "none; unless he shall be
persecuted to death, now, by the same man who long ago attempted it!"

"Cousin Hepzibah," said the Judge, with an impressive earnestness of
manner, which grew even to tearful pathos as he proceed