"A word more, Mr. Jefferson," he said, at length, still gazing into the
gleaming embers. As he stood so, looking down into the fire, the
flickering light leaped up and played upon his quiet face, upon the
clean-cut lips, the firm jaw, the aquiline nose, the broad, smooth brow,
from which the dark-brown hair, unpowdered, waved back, tied at the neck
with a black ribbon whose ends fell down upon the broad young shoulders.
Perhaps it was the changing light, or perhaps it was the shadow from his
uplifted hand on which he lightly leaned his head, that made his eyes
seem dark and troubled, and quite unlike their usual serene selves. As
Mr. Jefferson looked at the young man an uneasy thought took shape in
his mind that that face's cheerful expression had altered since it had
entered his doors, that the shadow of a change had somehow come upon it.
"A word more," said Calvert again, resting his foot upon one of the
burnished andirons, and removing his gaze from the flickering fire to
Mr. Jefferson's attentive face. "I believe that not in my letters, and
assuredly not since getting here, have I thanked you gratefully enough
for summoning me to you.
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