But when she took in every detail of the quaint figure of the old man, his scrupulous tidiness of apparel, the resigned stoop of his shoulders, and met in full the gaze of those moist eyes, she felt that the whole aspect of the man, as he sat there polishing his shoes, was infinitely pathetic and, in its simplicity, commanding of respect.
"Who are you ?" asked Lady Blakeney at last, for the old man after looking at her with a kind of appealing wonder, seemed to be waiting for her to speak.
"A priest of the good God, my dear child," replied the old man with a deep sigh and a shake of his scanty locks, "who is not allowed to serve his divine Master any longer.

A poor old fellow, very harmless and very helpless, who had been set here to watch over you.
"You must not look upon me as a jailer because of what I say, my child," he added with a quaint air of deference and apology.

"I am very old and very small, and only take up a very little room.

I can make myself very scarce; you shall hardly know that I am here.

They forced me to it much against my will....