His face and hands were unwashed, and his hair hung unbrushed over his forehead.

Phebe's whole heart was stirred at this pitiful change, and she laid her hand on his shoulder with a timid but affectionate touch.
"Mr.Roland," she said, "go up-stairs and put yourself to rights a little; and give me your clothes and your boots to brush.

You'll feel better when you are more like yourself." He smiled faintly as he looked up at her quivering lips and eyes full of unshed tears.

But her homely advice was good, and he was glad to follow it.

Her little room above was lined with richly carved oak panels like the kitchen below, and a bookcase contained her books, many of which he had himself given to her.