rd which passed through a pulley
over the door and then ran down the hallway, disappearing through
another door at the left. So, following the cord, she went on slowly.

The outside of the house had given her a certain impression. Now, in a
flash, that impression was superseded by a new one. Here was the home of
a man of means, the heavy, rich furniture spoke of that, the painting
there in the living room into which she glanced, the tastefully papered
walls, the thick carpet muffling her footfalls. If only the curtains
were thrown back, if only the sun were looking in upon it all!

And now the man. Henry Pollard, whom she had not seen since she was a
very little girl and then only during his short visit at her father's
house, struck her as being in some way not entirely unlike this
habitation of his. A gentleman gone to seed, was that it?

His manner was courteous, courtly even, his speech soft, his eyes gentle
as they rested upon her, gentle and yet eager. There was something fine
about his face, about the eyes and high forehead, and yet alongside it
there was something else which drove a little pain into the girl's eyes.
The mouth was hard, there were deep, set lines about it and about the
eyes there was a hint of cruelty which not even his smile hid entirely.
And though she strove to smile back bravely as she came forward to kiss
him, she knew that she was disappointed, and a little uneasy.

She knew that Henry Pollard must be about fifty; she saw that he looked
to be sixty. He had pulled himself up against his pillows and had drawn
on a dressing gown to cover his shoulders. He was well groomed; he had
had a shave yesterday; he did not look sick. But he did look old, like a
man who had aged prematurely and suddenly; and he did look worried and
tired, as though he had not slept well last night.

"I am alone just now," he smiled. "Mrs. Riddell is keeping house for me,
but I heard her go out a little while ago. For something for breakfast,
I suppose. You are looking well, Winifred. I knew you would be pretty.
Now, sit down."

No word yet of her errand, no query as to its success. She was grateful
to him for that. She wanted a moment, time in which to feel that she
knew him a little bit, before she could tell him. But she saw in his
eyes that he was curbing his eagerness, and that she would have to tell
him in a moment.

"I am sorry that you are sick, Uncle Henry," she said hastily, taking
the chair near his bed.