“Well, well, child, perhaps he has,” said Hepzibah, with a sad, hollow laugh; “but in old houses like this, you know, dead people are very apt to come back again.  And, Cousin Phoebe, if your courage does not fail you, we will not part soon.  You are welcome to such a home as I can offer you.”

III.—­Miss Hepzibah’s Guests

The day after Phoebe’s arrival there was a constant tremor in Hepzibah’s frame.  With all her affection for a young cousin there was a recurring irritability.

“Bear with me, my dear child!” she cried; “bear with me, for I love you, Phoebe; and truly my heart is full to the brim!  By-and-by I shall be kind, and only kind.”

“What has happened?” asked Phoebe.  “What is it that moves you so?”

“Hush!  He is coming!” whispered Hepzibah.  “Let him see you first, Phoebe; for you are young and rosy, and cannot help letting a smile break out.  He always liked bright faces.  And mine is old now, and the tears are hardly dry on it.  Draw the curtain a little, but let there be a good deal of sunshine, too.  He has had but little sunshine in his life, poor Clifford; and, oh, what a black shadow!  Poor—­poor Clifford!”

There was a step in the passage-way, above stairs.  It seemed to Phoebe the same that she had heard in the night, as in a dream.  Very slowly the steps came downstairs, and paused for a long time at the door.

Hepzibah, unable to endure the suspense, rushed forward, threw open the door, and led in the stranger by the hand.  At the first glance Phoebe saw an elderly man, in an old-fashioned dressing gown, with grey hair, almost white, of an unusual length.  The expression of his countenance seemed to waver, glimmer, and nearly to die away, and feebly to recover itself again.

“Dear Clifford,” said Hepzibah, “this is our Cousin Phoebe, Arthur’s only child, you know.  She has come from the country to stay with us a while, for our old house has grown to be very lonely now.”

“Phoebe?  Arthur’s child?” repeated the guest.  “Ah, I forget!  No matter.  She is very welcome.”  He seated himself in the place assigned him, and looked strangely around.  His eyes met Hepzibah’s, and he seemed bewildered and disgusted.  “Is this you, Hepzibah?” he murmured sadly.  “How changed! how changed!”

“There is nothing but love here, Clifford,” Hepzibah said softly—­“nothing but love.  You are at home.”

The guest responded to her tone by a smile, which but half lit up his face.  It was followed by a coarser expression, and he ate his food with fierce voracity and asked for “more—­more!”

That day Phoebe attended to the shop, and the second person to enter it was a gentleman of portly figure and high respectability.

“I was not aware that Miss Hepzibah Pyncheon had commenced business under such favourable auspices,” he said, in a deep voice, “You are her assistant, I suppose?”

“I certainly am,” answered Phoebe.  “I am a cousin of Miss Hepzibah, on a visit to her.”