re in the way to discover.”
And the doctor bowed, and descended the steps.
Mr. Bergan turned to his nephew. “I hope you left my sister well,” said he.
“Quite well. I have a letter from her for you. I am ashamed that it has not been delivered before, but—”
Bergan hesitated; a further explanation would take him upon delicate ground.
“Never mind the sequence of the ‘but,'” said his uncle, smiling, albeit a little gravely;—”I am aware that the road from Bergan Hall to Oakstead is not so smooth as could be wished. I”—there was a slight hesitation, 杭州洗浴中心按摩 as if a colder phrase had been sought, and not found,—”I am glad that you were able to surmount its difficulties so soon. A letter from Eleanor!” he went on, with a sudden change of subject,—”that will be a treat indeed! I take shame to myself that our correspondence has fallen into such desuetude. But what one ever did survive the 杭州桑拿按摩全套爽记 lapse of forty-two years, without the reviving impulse of an occasional meeting? I hardly dare venture a question about my sister’s family, lest I make some terrific blunder. I am not even sure about the present number of her children.”
“There are six of us left.”
“‘Left’ implies ‘taken,'” said Mr. Bergan, with a sigh.
“We have lost two of our number.”
“So have we,” replied Mr. Bergan. “But we have not six left—we have only one. However, she is a host in herself,—at least, we think so,”—he added, with a smile at his own enthusiasm. “But, will you come in and see your aunt and cousin?”
He led the way to a small room, pleasantly furnished as a library; and Bergan followed him, though not without 杭州4197龙凤论坛 a vague sense of a lurking reluctance and lukewarmness in the invitation,—which he sternly smothered, nevertheless, as unworthy of himself and unjust to his uncle.
Stepping to an open 杭州桑拿龙凤 French window, Mr. Bergan slightly raised his voice and called,—
“Yes, father!” was the instant answer, in a voice of peculiar richness and melody;
and the next moment a young girl stood in the window, 杭州家庭式个人保健 with a light shawl wrapped round her slender figure, and her hands filled with autumn flowers, just gathered. The light was too dim to show her features clearly; but a certain indefinable freshness and sweetness seemed to enter the room with her and diffuse itself through the atmosphere not less perceptibly than the scent of the flowers. At sight of a stranger, imperfectly seen in the twilight obscurity of the room, she stopped abruptly.
“It is your cousin, Bergan Arling, the son of my sister Eleanor,” briefly explained her father.
There was a little start of surprise and of pleasure; then Carice dropped her flowers on the nearest table, and gave Bergan two cordial 杭州足疗店都有什么服务 hands. Not only was there a charming grace in the unstudied action, but also the pleasant
heart-warmth, the frank recognition of kinship and its appropriate sympathies, which Bergan had so unaccountably missed from his uncle’s manner, even while trying to persuade himself, either that it was there, or that its absence was no matter of surprise.
“Have I really a cousin, then!” said she, brigh