"Yes, on my last birthday."
"Little Derrice, you are too young yet to know the priceless blessing of an unselfish love. You have married an honest man, and one devoted to you. Do not despise his affection. I have lived longer than you, and let me tell you that love is seldom found in its purity,—is seldom bestowed on a worthy object. You do well to stay here, to wait and be patient."
Derrice, in suppressed surprise, wiped away her tears. The clergyman had suddenly lost his irritable and disturbed manner. He was earnest, impressive, even ardent.
"Thank you," she said, gravely. "I will think of what you say. It is a consolation to find you here, for you recall happier days,—days spent with my dear father."
She was going to cry again,—what a child she was!—and warmly clasping her hand, the young clergyman hurried from the room.
CHAPTER VI.
STERN HER FACE AND MASCULINE HER STRIDE.
Mr. Huntington, after leaving the Mercer mansion, stood for a minute on the sidewalk, in deepest thought. He turned his face toward his own house, then, looking in the direction of the up-river suburbs of the town, he turned his head back again, like one drawn two ways, and, finally coming to a decision, hailed a passing car, and was whirled rapidly in the direction his thoughts had taken.
A few minutes later he had reached the terminus of the car line, and was picking a somewhat muddy way toward a long, high-shouldered house of foreign aspect, situated on the river bank, and showing him a broad, friendly face at the end of an avenue of poplars.