such a one as this to lavish love upon.

“Ha, my boy, what did I say?” The words came from my uncle and I felt the pressure of his hand on my arm. “This is no common admiration I see; it is something deeper, bigger. So you have forgotten the other already? My little girl has put out all lesser lights.”

“There is no other. She is the one, she only.”

And I told him my story.

He listened, gaining strength with every word I uttered.

“So for a mere hope which might never have developed, you were ready to give up a fortune,” was all he said.

“It was not that which troubled me,” was my reply, uttered in all candor. “It was the thought that I must[Pg 36] disappoint you in a matter you seem to have taken to heart.”

[Pg 36]

“Yes, yes,” he muttered as if to himself.

And I stood wondering, lost in surprise at this change in his wishes and asking myself over and over as I turned on the lights and helped him back to his easy chair in the big room, what had occasioned this change, and whether it would be a permanent one or pass with the possible hallucinations of his present fevered condition.

To clear up this point and make sure that I should not be led to play the fool in a situation of such unexpected difficulty, I ventured to ask him what he wished me to do now—whether I should remain where I was or go down and make my young cousin’s acquaintance.

“She seemed very happy,” I assured him. “Evidently she does not know that you are upstairs and ill.”

“I do not want her to know it. Not till a half hour before supper-time. Then she may come up. I will allow you to carry her this message; but she must come up alone.”

“Shall I call Wealthy?” I asked, for his temporary excitement was fast giving away to a renewed lassitude.

“She will come when you are gone. She must not know what has been said here to-night. No one must know. Promise me, Quenton.”

“No one shall know.” I was as anxious as he for silence. How could I face her, or return Edgar’s handshake if my secret were known to either?

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