the wall.—I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Markham, I believe?" she added somewhat abruptly.
I bowed, but ventured to ask how she knew me.
"Your sister called here, a few days ago, with Mrs. Markham."
"Is the resemblance so strong then?" I asked in some surprise, and not so greatly flattered at the idea as I ought to have been.
"There is a likeness about the eyes and complexion I think," replied she, somewhat dubiously surveying my face;—"and I think I saw you at church on Sunday."
I smiled.—There was something either in that smile or the recollections it awakened that was particularly displeasing to her, for she suddenly assumed again that proud, chilly look that had so unspeakably roused my corruption at church—a look of repellent scorn, so easily assumed, and so entirely without the least distortion of a single feature that, while there, it
