Standing in her presence, he was moved with compassion, and with another feeling more rarely excited in him by a women's face, that of reverential tenderness.

Impossible to recognize in this countenance the features known to him from the portrait.

At three-and-twenty she had possessed a sweet, simple comeliness on which any man's eye would have rested with pleasure; at forty she was wrinkled, hollow-cheeked, sallow, indelible weariness stamped upon her brow and lips.

She looked much older than Mary Barfoot, though they were just of an age.

And all this for want of a little money.