Keen-sighted, Clare had recognized Ann at some distance, and as he approached had a better opportunity than on the dark stair of seeing what his little friend was like. He saw that her eyes were unusually clear, and, paces away, could distinguish the blue veins on her forehead: she looked even more delicate than he had thought her. The lines of her mouth were straightened out with the painful effort she had to make to keep up with her sister. Her nose continued insignificant, waiting to learn what was expected of it. For Miss Shotover, there was not a good feature in her face, and even to a casual glance it might have suggested a measure of meanness. But a bright complexion, and the youthful charm which vanishes with youth, are pleasant in their season. Her figure was lithe, and in general she had a look of fun; but at the moment heat and impatience clouded her countenance. Clare stopped and lifted his hat. Then first the dazed child saw him, for she was short-sighted, and her observation was dulled by weariness. She said not a word, uttered no sound, only drew her hand from her sister’s, and held up her arms to her friend--in dumb prayer to be lifted above the thorns of life, and borne along without pain. He caught her up. “I beg your pardon, ma’am,” he said, “but the little one and I have met before:--I live in the house, having the honour to be the youngest of your father’s clerks. If you will allow me, I will carry the child. She looks tired!” [Illustration: CLARE ASKS MISS SHOTOVER TO LET HIM CARRY ANN HOME.] Miss Shotover was glad enough to be relieved of her clog, and gave smiling consent. “If you would be so kind as to carry her home,” she said, “I should be able to do a little shopping!” “You will not mind my taking her a little farther first, ma’am? I am on a message for Mr. Woolrige. I will carry her all the way, and be very careful of her.” Miss Shotover was not one to cherish anxiety. She already knew Clare both by report and by sight, and willingly yielded. Saying, with one of her pleasant smiles, that she would hold him accountable for her, she sailed away, like a sloop that had been dragging her anchor, but had now cut her cable. Clare thought what a sweet-looking girl she was--and in truth she was sweet-_looking_. Then, all his heart turned to the little one in his arms.