Somebody there, for certain. Somebody peeping
in with very bright, arch eyes. Dr. Renton knew it, and prepared to
maintain his ill-humor against the invader. His face became triply
armed with severity for the encounter. That's Netty, I know, he thought.
His daughter. So it was. In she bounded. Bright little Netty! Gay little
Netty! A dear and sweet little creature, to be sure, with a delicate
and pleasant beauty of face and figure, it needed no costly silks to
grace or heighten. There she stood. Not a word from her merry lips,
but a smile which stole over all the solitary grimness of the library,
and made everything better, and brighter, and fairer, in a minute. It
floated down into the cavernous humor of Dr. Renton, and the gloom began
to lighten directly,--though he would not own it, nor relax a single
feature. But the wan ghost in the corner lifted its head to look at
her, and slowly brightened as to something worthy a spirit's love, and
a dim phantom's smiles. Now then, Dr. Renton! the lines are drawn, and
the foe is coming.
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