Lizzie made no response.
"There's the letter," said Mr. Mackenzie, handing it over to her.
Lizzie opened it.
"How long she is reading it!" thought her visitor. "You can't see so far from the light, can you, Miss?"
"Yes," said Lizzie.—"His poor mother! Poor woman!"
"Ay, indeed, Miss,—she's the one to be pitied."
"Yes, she's the one to be pitied," said Lizzie. "Well!" and she gave him back the letter.
"I thought you'd like to see it," said Mackenzie, drawing on his gloves; and then, after a pause,—"I'll call again, Miss, if I hear anything more. Good night!"
Lizzie got up and lowered the light, and then went back to her sofa by the fire.
Half an hour passed; it went slowly; but it passed. Still lying there in the dark room on the sofa, Lizzie heard a ring at the door-bell, a man's voice and a man's tread in the hall. She rose and went to the lamp. As she turned it up, the parlor-door opened. Bruce came in.