“Come here, my boy!”
Mr. Granville drew the boy to him, and looked earnestly in his face, then kissed him affectionately.
“He has changed since he was a little child, Mrs. Brent,” he said, with a half-sigh.
“That's to be expected, sir. He was only three years old when you left him with us.”
“But it seems to me that his hair and complexion are lighter.”
“You can judge of that better than I,” said Mrs. Brent plausibly. “To me, who have seen him daily, the change was not perceptible.”
“I am greatly indebted to you for your devoted care—to you and your husband. I am grieved to hear that Mr. Brent is dead.”
“Yes, sir; he left me six months since. It was a grievous loss. Ah, sir, when I give up Philip also, I shall feel quite alone in the world,” and she pressed a handkerchief to her eyes. “You see, I have come to look upon him as my own boy!”
“My dear madam, don't think that I shall be so cruel as to take him from you. Though I wish him now to live with me, you must accompany him. My home shall be yours if you are willing to accept a room in my house and a seat at my table.”
“Oh, Mr. Granville, how can I thank you for your great kindness? Ever since I received your letter I have been depressed with the thought that I should lose dear Philip. If I had a child of my own it would be different; but, having none, my affections are centered upon him.”