and he went to sleep and niver wakened: he wor a’most stark when your brother went into t’ chamber and fand him.

Ah, childer! that’s t’ last o’ t’ old stock — for ye and Mr. St. John is like of different soart to them ‘at’s gone; for all your mother wor mich i’ your way, and a’most as book-learned. She wor the pictur’ o’ ye, Mary: Diana is more like your father.”

I thought them so similar I could not tell where the old servant (for such I now concluded her to be) saw the difference. Both were fair complexioned and slenderly made; both possessed faces full of distinction and intelligence.

One, to be sure, had hair a shade darker than the other, and there was a difference in their style of wearing it; Mary’s