Chapter 7 - Page 2

welcome.

"You look tired, my dear. Never mind the reading tonight; rest yourself,
and let the book go," he said kindly, observing her worn look.

"Thank you, sir. I am tired, but I'd rather read, else the book will not
be finished before I go."

"Go, child! Where are you going?" demanded Sir John, looking anxiously
at her as she sat down.

"I will tell you by-and-by, sir." And opening the book, Jean read for a
little while.

But the usual charm was gone; there was no spirit in the voice of the
reader, no interest in the face of the listener, and soon he said,
abruptly, "My dear, pray stop! I cannot listen with a divided mind. What
troubles you? Tell your friend, and let him comfort you."

As if the kind words overcame her, Jean dropped the book, covered up her
face, and wept so bitterly that Sir John was much alarmed; for such a
demonstration was doubly touching in one who usually was all gaiety and
smiles. As he tried to soothe her, his words grew tender, his solicitude
full of a more than paternal anxiety, and his kind heart overflowed with
pity and affection for the weeping girl. As she grew calmer, he urged
her to be frank, promising to help and counsel her, whatever the
affliction or fault might be.

"Ah, you are too kind, too generous! How can I go away and leave my one
friend?" sighed Jean, wiping the tears away and looking up at him with
grateful eyes.

"Then you do care a little for the old man?" said Sir John with an eager
look, an involuntary pressure of the hand he held.

Jean turned her face away, and answered, very low, "No one ever was
so kind to me as you have been. Can I help caring for you more than I
can express?"

Sir John was a little deaf at times, but he heard that, and looked well
pleased. He had been rather thoughtful of late, had dressed with unusual
care, been particularly gallant and gay when the young ladies visited
him, and more than once, when Jean paused in the reading to ask a
question, he had been forced to confess that he had not been listening;
though, as she well knew, his eyes had been fixed upon her. Since the
discovery of her birth, his manner had been peculiarly benignant, and
many little acts had proved his interest and goodwill. Now, when Jean
spoke of going, a panic seized him, and desolation seemed about to fall
upon the old Hall. Something in her unusual agitation struck him as
peculiar and excited his curiosity. Never had she seemed so interesting
as now, when she sat beside him with tearful eyes, and some soft trouble
in her heart which she dared not confess.

"Tell me everything, child, and let your friend help you if he