What brooding brown eyes the poor cripple had! Not many years ago he would have sat down with the two poor souls, and made a hearty meal of it: he had no heart for such follies now.
Old Yare stood in the background, his hat in his hand, stooping in his submissive negro fashion, with a frightened watch on Holmes.
"Do you stay here, Lois ?" he asked, kindly, turning his back on the old man.
"On'y to bring his supper.

I couldn't bide all night 'n th' mill," the old shadow coming on her face,--"I couldn't, yoh know.

HE doesn't mind it." She glanced quickly from one to the other in silence, seeing the fear on her father's face.
"Yoh know father, Mr.Holmes?
He's back now.

This is him." The old man came forward, humbly.
"It's me, Marster Stephen." The sullen, stealthy face disgusted Holmes.

He nodded, shortly.
"Yoh've been kind to my little girl while I was gone," he said, catching his breath.