The old man sat and
listened--with little understanding for the words, but with his
eyes fixed upon the child--and if she smiled or brightened with
the story, he would say it was a good one, and conceive a fondness
for the very book. When, in their evening talk, the bachelor told
some tale that pleased her (as his tales were sure to do), the old
man would painfully try to store it in his mind; nay, when the
bachelor left them, he would sometimes slip out after him, and
humbly beg that he would tell him such a part again, that he might
learn to win a smile from Nell.
But these were rare occasions, happily; for the child yearned to be
out of doors, and walking in her solemn garden. Parties, too,
would come to see the church; and those who came, speaking to
others of the child, sent more; so even at that season of the year
they had visitors almost daily. The old man would follow them at
a little distance through the building, listening to the voice he
loved so well; and when the strangers left, and parted from Nell,
he would mingle with them to catch up fragments of their
conversation; or he would stand for the same purpose, with his grey
head uncovered, at the gate as they passed through.
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