onward--"pretty Aunt Edna, whom mother loved so much. He adored her,
and they were never parted for a day till she took typhoid, and died.
The little girl died the year after, and he had no one left but Ned.
Mother says he was the handsomest boy she ever met, and the cleverest,
and the best. Even now, after all these years, she can't speak of the
day he was drowned without crying... I always hated to hear that story!

"She says the real Uncle Bernard died with Ned. He seemed to disappear
from that day, and an entirely different person appeared in his place.
He had been kind and hospitable, fond of having people around him and
making them happy; but after that he shut himself up and became a
regular hermit. Then he went abroad, and since he came back four years
ago and reopened the Court, he has written to nobody, and nobody has
seen him. But he has come to see us to-day of his own free will. I
wonder why? Something has happened to make him break the silence. What
can it have been?"

She dared not ask the question; but, as the feeble steps endeavoured to
keep pace with her own, a possible explanation darted into Mollie's
mind. The poor old man was ill, very ill; there was an expression on
the grey, sunken face which was eloquent even to her inexperience.
Death was coming forward to meet him, coming very near; standing upon
the very threshold! Strong, happy nineteen shuddered at the thought,
and felt an overpowering pity for the waning life.

Mollie longed to comfort the old man with the assurance that there were
many still left who could help and minister to his declining days; but
her previous overtures had met with so little success that she was
afraid of meeting yet another rebuff, and, with unusual prudence,
decided to await a better opportunity.

Langton Terrace was reached at last, and Mollie produced a key and
opened the door of Number 7. In a household where there are so many
children and so few servants, the latchkey was in constant use, and thus
it happened that she could bring her guest unnoticed into the house and
escort him to her stepfather's sanctum, which was sure to be unoccupied
at this hour of the afternoon. She drew forward an armchair, poked the
fire into a blaze, and laid Mr Farrell's hat and stick on the table,
while he lay wearily against the cushions. He looked woefully
exhausted, and Mollie's kind heart had a happy inspiration.

"I shan't tell anyone that you are here until you