s to his lips, and turned away his head.

"Come, Kate," said he, after a brief pause, "it was with no intention of
that kind I spoke. We could none of us live without you now. My thoughts
had a very different object."

"And that was----"

"Simply this"--and here he made a great effort, and spoke rapidly, as
if fearing to dwell on the words. "Law-suits and knavish attorneys have
wasted three-fourths of my estate: the remainder I scarcely know if I be
its master or not; on that portion, however, the old house stands, and
the few acres that survive the wreck. At this moment heavy proceedings
are pending in the courts, if successful in which, I shall be left in
possession of the home of my father, and not turned adrift upon the
world, a beggar. There--don't look so pale, child--the story is an
old one now, and has few terrors for us as long as it remains merely
anticipated evil. This is a sad tale for your ears. I know it," said he,
wiping away a tear that would come in spite of him.

Both were now silent. The old man paused, uncertain how he should
proceed further. Kate spoke not; for as yet she could neither see the
drift of the communication, or, if it were in any way addressed to her,
what part she was expected to take in the matter.

"Are you aware, my dear," resumed he, after a considerable delay, "that
your father was married to your mother when she was but sixteen?"

"I have often heard she was scarcely more than a child," said Kate,
timidly--for she had no recollection of having seen either of her
parents.

"A child in years, love, she was; but a woman in grace, good sense,
and accomplishments--in fact, so fortunate was my poor brother in his
choice, he ever regarded the youthfulness of his wife as one of the
reasons of that amiability of temper she possessed. Often have we talked
of this together, and nothing could convince him to the contrary, as if,
had the soil been unfruitful, the tares and the thistles had not been
as abundant a crop as the good fruit really was. He acted on his
conviction, however, Kate; for he determined, if ever he had a daughter,
she should be of age at sixteen--the period of life her mother was
married at. I endeavoured to dissuade him. I did my best to expose the
dangers and difficulties of such a plan. Perhaps, dearest, I should have
been less obstinate in argument, had I been prophetic enough to know
what my niece would be; but it was all in vain. The idea had become a
dominan