Presently there was a rustle of skirts on the stairs and Miss Helen came swiftly in. "My dear, my dear!" she exclaimed. "How glad I am to see you. What a siege you have had. It has seemed such a long time and mother has been hoping every day that you would be well enough to come. Do you still suffer, poor little lass?"
"Not now," was the answer, "but I gave my right hand, you see, and didn't get anything for it after all."
"You haven't given it altogether, I hope."
"No, but I can't even write, and if I had a piano I couldn't play on it."
"But you will soon be well," returned her aunt. "Come, let us go up to mother; she is very impatient to see you."
Nan followed to the softly carpeted, upper front room. No grand dame, magnificently attired came forward to meet her, but by the window sat a little old lady in sombre mourning; her face was lined with sorrow and her hands were worn and thin; only a plain gold ring adorned the left one.
"And this is Nancy," she said. "Excuse my rising, my dear, I am not very strong. Come here, won't you?"
Nan approached with a feeling of disappointment. How could any one fear sharp speeches from this mild-mannered old lady? Where was the flashing splendor of her eyes? Where was her proud mien? What had become of all those qualities which the portrait represented?
"Come closer, Nancy, child; I want to have a look at you," said her grandmother. And Nan knelt down before her. Mrs. Corner took the girl's face between her hands and looked at her long and earnestly. "She has Jack's eyes," she said to her daughter.
Nan smiled; it pleased her to be told this.