But he led her gently to the sofa, and sat down beside her on the hard old slippery horsehair.

Then first he perceived what a change had passed upon her.
Pale was she, and thin, and sad, with such big eyes, and the bone tightening the skin upon her forehead! He felt as if she were a spectre-Letty, not the Letty he had loved.

Glancing up, she caught his troubled gaze.
"I am not ill, Cousin Godfrey," she said.

"Do not look at me so, or I shall cry again.

You know you never liked to see me cry." "My poor girl!" said Godfrey, in a voice which, if he had not kept it lower than natural, would have broken, "you are suffering." "Oh, no, I'm not," replied Letty, with a pitiful effort at the cheerful; "I am only so glad to see you again, Cousin Godfrey." She sat on the edge of the sofa, and had put her open hands, palm to palm, between her knees, in a childish way, looking like one chidden, who did not deserve it, but was ready to endure.