“Anne!” exclaimed her mother, smiling, “I am ashamed to hear a young girl rattle on so.”

“I am not aware of being more light-headed than usual,” said Pownal, “but I am certain no one can be in Miss Bernard’s company, and not be light-hearted.”

“Very prettily spoken!  Mr. Thomas Pownal is practising his wit upon a country maiden, in order to be in training when he returns to open the campaign among the New York ladies.”

“I am too happy here,” said Pownal, in a low tone, “to wish to return to the city.”

An almost imperceptible blush suffused the cheeks of Miss Bernard.  She looked up from the newspaper, but her eyes encountering those of the young man, instantly fell.

“What fine speeches are you making to one another?” broke in the Judge.  “My dear, do not hold down your head.  It throws the blood into your face.”

“Papa,” cried his daughter, desirous to divert attention from herself, “can you find nothing instructing in the paper to read to us?  Is there no report of any speech?”

“Speeches, indeed!  Thank Heaven, there is no speech in this paper.  The session of Congress has not commenced, and the deluge of words, in comparison with which Noah’s flood was a summer’s shower, therefore, not begun.  Why, my dear little daughter, do you remind me of the national calamity?”

“To atone for the offence, papa, let me tell you that Mr. Armstrong and Faith promised to come to see us this evening, and from the sound of the opening of the front gate, I suspect they are close at hand.”

Anne’s conjecture proved true, for shortly after the expected visitors were announced, and the usual greetings having passed, they were all soon seated.

But before proceeding further, it may not be amiss to give some description of persons destined to play a not unimportant part in our story.

Mr. Armstrong was of middle age, of the ordinary stature, and with a face which still possessed great beauty.  A noble brow, hair originally black, but prematurely grey, large dark eyes, a straight nose, and a well-formed mouth, over which played an expression of benevolence, made an exterior of exceeding attractiveness, and it would have been an unmixed pleasure to gaze upon his gracious presence, but for an air of dejection amounting to suffering, which had of late been increasing upon him.  He seldom smiled, and when he did the smile was often succeeded by a dark shadow, as if he felt compunction for trespassing on the precints of gaiety.

Faith strongly resembled her father, as well in externals as in the character of her mind.  Her figure was slender, approaching even to delicacy, though without any appearance of sickliness.  Her face, pale and thoughtful usually, was sometimes lighted up with an enthusiasm more angelic than human.  Her mother having died when she was too young to appreciate the loss, she had concentrated upon her father all that love which is generally divided between two parents.  Nor was it with a feeling of love only she regarded him.  With it was mixed a sentiment of reverence amounting almost to idolatry.  No opinion, no thought, no word, no look of his but had for her a value.  And richly was the affection of the child returned by the father, and proud was he of her, notwithstanding his struggles against the feeling as something sinful.