Archer could have struck the man. He held his peace with difficulty, until, after pacing up and down, smiling faintly at the aptness of his quotation, Mr. Powell came to himself again to say:—
"Here comes Barbara to show you your room. Good-night, sir, and I hope you will sleep well."
Archer followed the servant and her candle up the stairs to a landing and into a plain but pleasant little bedchamber, warmed by an open fire, and overlooking the cove, the water, and the long, reflected lights of the town. The tall old woman hesitated as she said good-night.
"It's good to have you here, sir," she ventured, in her timorous voice. "It is, indeed." And her face, brown and wrinkled as a walnut, shone with kindness.
Left to himself, he stood thinking over this strange landfall. The black glacier of firs over the hill had been gloomy enough, the inhabitants like the place; but this pastoral slope of the island—was it better? Pity for the girl was his uppermost thought,—a pity
