_, so soon as
nature was refreshed, smiling and shining, as he leaned back in his chair,
his hand upon the table, and his finger curled gently upon the stem of his
wine-glass. 'It never was your privilege, I believe, to see your uncle, Mr.
Silas Ruthyn, of Bartram-Haugh?'

'No--never; he leads so retired--so _very_ retired a life.'

'Oh, no,--of course, no; but I was going to remark a likeness--I mean,
of course, a _family_ likeness--only _that_ sort of thing--you
understand--between him and the profile of Lady Margaret in the
drawing-room--is not it Lady Margaret?--which you were so good as to show
me on Wednesday last. There certainly _is_ a likeness. I _think_ you would
agree with me, if you had the pleasure of seeing your uncle.'

'You know him, then? I have never seen him.'

'Oh dear, yes--I am happy to say, I know him very well. I have that
privilege. I was for three years curate of Feltram, and I had the honour of
being a pretty constant visitor at Bartram-Haugh during that, I may say,
protracted period; and I think it really never has been my privilege and
happiness, I may say, to enjoy the acquaintance and society of so very
experienced a Christian, as my admirable friend, I may call him, Mr.
Ruthyn, of Bartram-Haugh. I look upon him, I do assure you, quite in the
light of a saint; not, of course, in the Popish sense, but in the very
highest, you will understand me, which _our_ Church allows,--a man built up
in faith--full of faith--faith and grace--altogether exemplary; and I
often ventured to regret, Miss Ruthyn, that Providence in its mysterious
dispensations should have placed him so far apart from his brother, your
respected father. His influence and opportunities would, no doubt, we may
venture to hope, at least have been blessed; and, perhaps, we--my valued
rector and I--might possibly have seen more of him at church, than, I
deeply regret, we _have_ done.' He shook his head a little, as he smiled
with a sad complacency on me through his blue steel spectacles, and then
sipped a little meditative sherry.

'And you saw a good deal of my uncle?'

'Well, a _good_ deal, Miss Ruthyn--I may say a _good_ deal--principally at
his own house. His health is wretched--miserable health--a sadly afflicted
man he has been, as, no doubt, you are aware. But afflictions, my dear Miss
Ruthyn, as you remember Doctor Clay so well remarked on Sunday last, though
birds of ill omen, yet spiritually resemble the ravens who s