t again, I bowed and introduced myself by
name. She nodded. The child had a thoughtful face--thoughtful beyond
her years--and delicately shaped rather than pretty.

"Lobelia, run in and tell the Admirals that a gentleman has called, with
my permission."

Having dismissed the handmaiden, she observed me in silence for a few
moments while she unpinned her tartan riding-skirt. Its removal
disclosed, not--as I had expected--a short frock, but one of quite
womanly length; and she carried it with the air of a grown woman.

"You must make allowances, please. I think," she mused, "yes, I really
think you will be able to help. But you must not be surprised, mind.
Can you walk alone, or will you lean a hand on my shoulder?"

I could walk alone. Of what she meant I had of course no inkling; but I
saw she was as anxious now for me to come indoors as she had been prompt
at first to warn me off the premises. So I hobbled after her towards
the house. At the steps by the side-door she turned and gave me a hand.
We passed across a stone-flagged hall and through a carpetless corridor,
which brought us to the foot of the grand staircase: and a magnificent
staircase it was, ornate with twisted balusters and hung with fine
pictures, mostly by old Dutch masters. But no carpet covered the broad
steps, and the pictures were perishing in their frames for lack of
varnish. I had halted to stare up at a big Hondecoeter that hung in the
sunlight over the first short flight of stairs--an elaborate "Parliament
of Fowls"--when the girl turned the handle of a door to my right and
entered.

"Uncle Peter, here is the gentleman who has called to see you."

As I crossed the threshold I heard a chair pushed back, and a very old
gentleman rose to welcome me at the far end of the cool and shadowy
room; a tall white-haired figure in a loose suit of holland. He did not
advance, but held out a hand tentatively, as if uncertain from what
direction I was advancing. Almost at once I saw that he was
stone-blind.

"But where is Uncle Melchior?" exclaimed Wilhelmina.

"I believe he is working at accounts," the old gentleman answered--
addressing himself to vacancy, for she had already run from the room.
He shook hands courteously and motioned me to find a chair, while he
resumed his seat beside a little table heaped with letters, or rather
with bundles of letters neatly tied and docketed. His right hand rested
on these bundles, and his fingers ta