may be as a criminal, while I, his unhappy father, live
on in luxury which I cannot enjoy, with no one to care for me----"

Florence Linden sank impulsively on her knees beside her uncle's
chair.

"Don't say that, uncle," she pleaded. "You know that I love you, Uncle
John."

"And I, too, uncle."

There was a shade of jealousy in the voice of Curtis Waring as he
entered the library through the open door, and approaching his uncle,
pressed his hand.

He was a tall, dark-complexioned man, of perhaps thirty-five, with
shifty, black eyes and thin lips, shaded by a dark mustache. It was
not a face to trust.

Even when he smiled the expression of his face did not soften. Yet he
could moderate his voice so as to express tenderness and sympathy.

He was the son of an elder sister of Mr. Linden, while Florence was
the daughter of a younger brother.

Both were orphans, and both formed a part of Mr. Linden's household,
and owed everything to his bounty.

Curtis was supposed to be in some business downtown; but he received a
liberal allowance from his uncle, and often drew upon him for outside
assistance.

As he stood with his uncle's hand in his, he was necessarily brought
near Florence, who instinctively drew a little away, with a slight
shudder indicating repugnance.

Slight as it was, Curtis detected it, and his face darkened.

John Linden looked from one to the other. "Yes," he said, "I must not
forget that I have a nephew and a niece. You are both dear to me, but
no one can take the place of the boy I have lost."

"But it is so long ago, uncle," said Curtis. "It must be fourteen
years."

"It is fourteen years."

"And the boy is long since dead!"

"No, no!" said John Linden, vehemently. "I do not, I will not, believe
it. He still lives, and I live only in the hope of one day clasping
him in my arms."

"That is very improbable, uncle," said Curtis, in a tone of annoyance.
"There isn't one chance in a hundred that my cousin still lives. The
grave has closed over him long since. The sooner you make up your mind
to accept the inevitable the better."

The drawn features of the old man showed that the words had a
depressing effect upon his mind, but Florence interrupted her cousin
with an indignant protest.

"How can you speak so, Curtis?" she exclaimed. "Leave Uncle John the
hope that he has so long cherished. I have a presentiment that Harvey
still lives."

John Linden's face brightened up

"You, too