Surely, thought I, this man cannot be
my uncle Wayland. At the time of his visit to my mother he was a young
and fine-looking man; but the man I now beheld was bowed as it were by
age, and his hair was nearly white. I should have remembered that since
I had seen him he had laid both of his loved children in the grave. True
it is that sorrow causes premature old age; but, upon a second look at
his countenance, I could clearly trace his resemblance to my mother. His
eyes, when he raised them to look at us, so strongly resembled hers that
my own filled with tears, which I hastily wiped away.
Alighting from the carriage, Mr. Egmont addressed my uncle, saying,--
"Have I the pleasure of speaking to Mr. Wayland?"
He replied in the affirmative, and added,--
"I know not whether or not I am addressing an old acquaintance; but your
countenance is not familiar to me."
Mr. Egmont replied,--
"I am not aware that we have ever met before; but this young lady who is
your niece, Miss Roscom, has travelled in company with myself and wife,
and I wished to leave her in your home before resigning my care of her."
My uncle seemed overjoyed at seeing me. He assisted me to alight, and
embraced me with true affection.
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