A movement of several persons in the room above, would indicate that the family were gathered there; as indeed they were, sitting around mother, feeling nearer and dearer than ever in their mutual loss, each one drying her eyes slowly, as she talked lovingly of the dead, trying to make them feel as did she, that father was not lost, but just gone home a little sooner than they. Into this peaceful, loving group came Olive, with ashy lips, and excited eyes, and a few minutes later, the old gentleman down stairs, arose from his waiting seat, as the door opened, and a lady came towards him. Just while she crossed the little distance lying between them, he scrutinized her, with almost savage intentness, and his survey ended in a slightly astonished, "humph," as she paused before him, and bent her head slightly, but with due respect for his age. "Mr. Congreve. Will you be seated, sir?" "Humph! Well, I suppose I will," and down he sat, with more force than was necessary, perhaps, but then he was excited. "I'm too late for Robert's funeral, I hear," he said, in a moment, as gruff and short as though she were to blame for the fact, and he was come to deliver a verbal chastisement. "Yes, sir, a few hours." "Humph! His death was very sudden." "Very sudden indeed." "Humph!" Very plainly, Mr. Congreve did not know exactly what to say next. He hadn't expected this kind of a widow; his mind had pictured one in bushels of crape, with a drenched, woe-begone face, who would scream when she saw him, fall on his neck, in lieu of his purse, and gasp out dramatically: "Dear, dear Uncle Ridley, now all my troubles are over," after which, he would have to pet her into quietude, when there was nothing, next to walking out of the window in his sleep, that he dreaded more than a crying woman; then he would have to kiss all the children, and so greatly did he object to such an osculatory performance, that after the act he looked as though he had made way with a quart of alum. Now, there was the pleasing, but slightly astonishing fact, that nobody was going to want to kiss him, and this pale, sweet-faced woman, with her quiet eyes and determined mouth was Robert's widow, that he would have to talk to; and it was very evident, that if he had anything to say, she was waiting quietly to hear it. "You have quite a large family,--madam," he said, hurriedly rushing in to break a pause. "Yes, sir, six daughters." "Six! Bless my soul,--six girls," and Mr. Congreve hastily took some snuff to settle his nerves. "Astonishing, I declare. Pity they're not boys,--great pity." "I would not have it otherwise than it is, sir." "Humph! well, they're your burden, not mine," said the old man, testily, and twisting uneasily in his chair. "A burden I am happy and grateful to bear, if burden it be," answered the widow, calmly. "I am thankful they are all mine, my comforts and helps at all times."