"[...]retired merchant, and amused himself by cultivating a large orchard, and five acres of meadowland which lay around our pretty cottage, in one of the most beautiful recesses of the coast of Devonshire. When he thought himself quite ready for presentation, he was conducted, by my now smiling mother, into the presence of the old man, and then the door was again carefully closed.
In a short time my dear mother came out, not weeping this time, and proceeded to get the tea ready. Her face, always beautiful to me, was radiant with mysterious happiness, which I thought, if it depended on the possible residence of that aged party with us, might be short-lived. I asked her who he was, and coaxed her to tell me; but she only replied: 'Oh, you little know, and you could not dream; but you will know in good time. He will tell you himself probably. He is a very wonderful old gentleman, more than ninety years of age. He told me not to tell you who he was.'
When our evening meal was ready, he emerged from the sitting-room, leaning on my father's arm. My sister Bertha had just come in from her rambles, and, having been introduced to him, sat down to the table gazing at the unexpected visitor with the utmost astonishment. He was a total stranger to us both. His face was dark and weather-beaten; his hair and beard were white as snow; his eyes were small, gray, and piercing. While he drank his tea he scarcely noticed my sister or myself, but conversed a little with our parents. I shall not recall their conversation, as it was only desultory and immaterial; but when we[...]".
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