Turning, she found his hollow and gleaming eyes fixed sternly upon her,
while a long, lean finger was pointed alternately at her and the frame
leaning against the wall.
"Girl!"
"Can I do something for you?" asked Faith, kindly.
"Don't you look at it--or let any one--else, while I'm--asleep."
"I certainly will not."
"Promise!"
"I do promise."
"Swear!"
"Nay, friend, that would be wrong," replied the girl, unconsciously
adopting the phraseology of the Quakers, while expressing a sentiment
learned from them; for though Faith had been brought up outwardly in
the creed of her father, she had, without being aware of it, adopted
many of the tenets to which her mother held.
"I will promise you very solemnly, however," continued she, "that I
will neither look at yonder thing nor allow any one else to do so; and
you will be wrong to doubt my word."
"I don't.--What is your name?"
"Faith."
"A good omen. Mine is--Ichabod."
"Ichabod Widdrinton?"
"Ichabod. Call me so,--all of you."
"Very well, if it is your name, we will. Now you must go to sleep."
"Sit there,--where I can see you."
Faith complied with this request, although uncertain whether it was not
prompted by a distrust of her promise.
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