solicitude. It was natural that an
old player should prize his favorite instrument, but surely, he thought,
a little chance danger to it should scarcely shake a man in this way.
Ezra's trembling hands began to tune the strings, and at the sound of
Ruth's voice Reuben turned away. His uncle's agitation shocked him. He
had known for years, as everybody had known, that Ezra had but a weakly
constitution, but he had never seen so striking a sign of it before, and
the old man's agitation awoke the young man's fears. There was a very
close and tender affection between them.

"Reuben," Ruth was saying, "this is my aunt Rachel. Aunt, this is Mr.
Reuben Gold. I don't suppose you remember him."

"I do not remember Mr. Reuben Gold," said the little old lady,
mincingly. "Is Mr. Gold a native of Heydon Hay? I do not think, from Mr.
Gold's appearance, that he was born when I quitted the village. I think
I recognize my old friends, the Elds," she went on, with an air almost
of patronage. "This will be Mr. Isaiah? Yes! I thought so. Mr. Isaiah
was always mild in manner. And this will be Mr. Sennacherib? Yes! Mr.
Sennacherib was unruly. I recognize them by their expressions."

"You remember me, Rachel?" said Mr. De Blacquaire, who had been
watching the old lady since her arrival. She turned her head in a swift,
bird-like way, and fixed her curiously youthful eyes upon him for an
instant. The withered old face lit up with a smile which so transfigured
it that for the moment it matched the youth of her eyes.

"Is it possible!" she cried. "Mr. Ferdinand! The dear, dear child!" She
seized one of his hands and kissed it, but he drew it away, and putting
an arm about her shoulders, stooped to kiss her wrinkled cheek. "The
grandson," she cried, turning on the others with an air of pride and
tender triumph, "of my dear mistress, Lady De Blacquaire. I nursed Mr.
Ferdinand in his infancy. I bore him to the font, and in my arms he
received his baptismal appellation."

If she had laid claim to the loftiest of worldly distinctions she could
scarcely have done it with a greater air of pride.

Ezra's tremulous fingers were still at work at the violin keys when Ruth
addressed him.

"I dare say you know my aunt Rachel, Mr. Gold," she said. "Heydon Hay
was such a little place five-and-twenty years ago that everybody must
have known everybody."

"It was my privilege to know Miss Blythe when she lived here," said
Ezra, looking up and speaking in a