No, there is
nothing, but I may as well sound Hannah a little, and will go to her at
once."
When Mrs. Wetherby died, her nephew sent a message to his father and
sister, announcing her death, and the time of the funeral. He felt it
his duty to do so much, but he did not say to them, "Come, I expect
you." In fact, away down in his heart, there was a hope that they would
not come. His father was well enough in Allington, where he was known;
but, what a figure he would cut in Boston, in his old drab surtout and
white hat, which he had worn since Burton could remember. Hannah was
different, and must have been pretty in her early girlhood. Indeed, she
was pretty now, and no one could look into her pale, sad face, and soft
dark eyes, or listen to her low, sweet voice, without being attracted
to her and knowing instinctively that, in spite of her plain Quakerish
dress, she was a lady in the true sense of the word. So, when she came
alone to pay the last token of respect to the aunt who had never been
very gracious to her, Burton felt relieved, though he wished that her
bonnet was a little more fashionable, and suggested her buying a new
one, which he would pay for.
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