A group of more interest appeared near the hearth, sitting still amidst the rosy peace and warmth suffusing it.

Two young, graceful women--ladies in every point--sat, one in a low rocking-chair, the other on a lower stool; both wore deep mourning of crape and bombazeen, which sombre garb singularly set off very fair necks and faces: a large old pointer dog rested its massive head on the knee of one girl--in the lap of the other was cushioned a black cat.
A strange place was this humble kitchen for such occupants! Who were they?
They could not be the daughters of the elderly person at the table; for she looked like a rustic, and they were all delicacy and cultivation.

I had nowhere seen such faces as theirs: and yet, as I gazed on them, I seemed intimate with every lineament.

I cannot call them handsome--they were too pale and grave for the word: as they each bent over a book, they looked thoughtful almost to severity.

A stand between them supported a second candle and two great volumes, to which they frequently referred, comparing them, seemingly, with the smaller books they held in their hands, like people consulting a dictionary to aid them in the task of translation.