At length they arrived at the blind man’s house. The door was opened to them by an old woman of disagreeable and sinister aspect, dressed out much too gaily for the station of a servant, though such was her reputed capacity; but the miser’s affliction saved her from the chance of his comment on her extravagance. As she stood in the doorway with a candle in her hand, she scanned curiously, and with no welcoming eye, her master’s companions.
“Mrs. Boxer, my son is dead!” said Simon, in a hollow voice.
“And a good thing it is, then, sir!”
“For shame, woman!” said Morton, indignantly.
“Hey-dey! sir! whom have we got here?”
“One,” said Simon, sternly, “whom you will treat with respect. He brings me a blessing to lighten my loss. One harsh word to this child, and you quit my house!”
The woman looked perfectly thunderstruck; but, recovering herself, she said, whiningly—
“I! a harsh word to anything my dear, kind master cares for. And, Lord, what a sweet pretty creature it is! Come here, my dear!”
But Fanny shrunk back, and would not let go Philip’s hand.
“To-morrow, then,” said Morton; and he was turning away, when a sudden thought seemed to cross the old man,—