“I came in to give you the copy of the deed, sir,—­and saw the curtain—­and thought I would—­”

“Pry into my secrets,” said Mr. Rushton; “very well, sir!”

“I did not mean to pry,” said Verty, proudly; “I did not think there was any harm in such a little thing.  I hope, sir, you will not think I meant anything wrong,” added Verty—­“indeed I did not; and I only thought this was some common picture, with a curtain over it to keep off the dust.”

But the lawyer, with a sudden change of manner, had turned his eyes to the portrait; and did not seem to hear the exclamation.

“I hope you will not think hard of me, Mr. Rushton,” said Verty; “you have been very good to me, and I would not do anything to offend you or give you pain.”

No answer was vouchsafed to this speech either.  The rough lawyer, with more and more change in his expression, was gazing at the fresh portrait, the curtain of which Verty had thrown over one of the upper corners of the frame.

Verty followed the look of Mr. Rushton; and gazed upon the picture.

“It is very lovely,” he said, softly; “I never saw a sweeter face.”

The lawyer’s breast heaved.

“And what ringlets—­I believe they call ’em,” continued Verty, absorbed in contemplating the portrait;—­“I love the pretty little thing already, sir.”

Mr. Rushton sat down in the chair, which Verty had abandoned, and covered his face.

“Did you know her?—­but oh, I forgot!—­how wrong in me!” murmured Verty; “I did not think that she might be—­Mr. Rushton—­forgive my—­”

The lawyer, with his face still covered, motioned toward the door.

“Must I go, sir?”

“Yes—­go,” came from the lips which uttered a groan—­a groan of such anguish, that Verty almost groaned in unison.

And murmuring “Anna!  Anna!” the lawyer shook.

The young man went toward the door.  As he opened it, he heard an exclamation behind him.

He turned his head.

“What’s this!” cried the lawyer, in a tone between a growl and a sob.

“What, sir?”

“This paper.”

“Sir?”

“This paper with—­with—­’Trust in God’ on it; did you write it?”

“I—­I—­must—­yes—­I suppose I did, sir,” stammered Verty, almost alarmed by the tone of his interlocutor.

“What did you mean?”

“Nothing, sir!”

“You had the boldness to write this canting—­hypocritical—­”

“Oh, Mr. Rushton!”

“You wrote it?”

“Yes, sir; and it is right, though I did’nt mean to write it—­or know it.”

“Very grand!”

“Sir?”

“You bring your wretched—­”

“Oh, I did’nt know I wrote it even, sir!  But indeed that is not right, sir.  All of us ought to trust in God, however great our afflictions are, sir.”

“Go!” cried the lawyer, rising with a furious gesture—­“away, sir!  Preach not to me—­you may be right—­but take your sermons elsewhere.  Look there, sir! at that portrait!—­look at me now, a broken man—­think that—­but this is folly!  Leave me to myself!”