"Thee shall not be parted from it, friend," said Mrs. Coffin, soothingly. "Surely we would not deprive thee of what is thine own, and what thee seems to value so much. Now if thee will try to go to sleep, I will stay with thee the while, and when thee wakes give thee some broth to strengthen thee." "Let--let _her_ stay.--Go away,--the rest of you," whispered the feeble voice, while the weary eyes rested upon Faith's grave, sweet face. "Thee means my daughter? Faith, does thee wish to stay? or had thee rather I should?" "I will stay, mother, if he wishes it." "Very well, daughter. When thee is weary, come down, and I, or one of the women, will take thy place." Mrs. Coffin left the room, and Faith, her sewing in her hand, was about seating herself by the fire, when the voice of the stranger summoned her to the bedside. Turning, she found his hollow and gleaming eyes fixed sternly upon her, while a long, lean finger was pointed alternately at her and the frame leaning against the wall. "Girl!" "Can I do something for you?" asked Faith, kindly. "Don't you look at it--or let any one--else, while I'm--asleep." "I certainly will not." "Promise!" "I do promise." "Swear!" "Nay, friend, that would be wrong," replied the girl, unconsciously adopting the phraseology of the Quakers, while expressing a sentiment learned from them; for though Faith had been brought up outwardly in the creed of her father, she had, without being aware of it, adopted many of the tenets to which her mother held. "I will promise you very solemnly, however," continued she, "that I will neither look at yonder thing nor allow any one else to do so; and you will be wrong to doubt my word." "I don't.--What is your name?" "Faith." "A good omen. Mine is--Ichabod." "Ichabod Widdrinton?" "Ichabod. Call me so,--all of you." "Very well, if it is your name, we will. Now you must go to sleep." "Sit there,--where I can see you." Faith complied with this request, although uncertain whether it was not prompted by a distrust of her promise. The stranger soon slept, and his young nurse then made a more attentive survey of his features than she had yet done. He seemed not over forty years of age, and would, in health, have been considered a handsome man,--although the fine silky hair, thin beard, sensitive nostril, and delicate mouth could never have expressed much of strength or resolution. The traces of disease and starvation were painfully apparent; but it seemed to the thoughtful Faith that behind these she could perceive in the sorrowful, downward curve of the lips, in the lines of the hollow, throbbing temples, in the gloomy light of the dark eyes, symptoms of a long corroding care, which, though secretly, had done its work of devastation more surely and more ruthlessly than the more apparent foes.