an involuntary sigh, 'of you and your brother. He was
always so fond of you both. He used to say very often that he wished that
I knew you; that you were so good, so unlike other people; that you bore
your trouble so beautifully.'

'I bore my trouble well! Oh, Miss Hamilton, it is impossible that he
could have said that, when he knew how rebellious I was.' But here I
could say no more.

'Don't cry, Ursula,' she said, very sweetly; 'you are not rebellious now.
Oh, I used to be so sorry for you; you little thought at that dreadful
time, when you were so lonely and desolate, that a girl whom you had
never seen, and perhaps of whom you had never heard, was praying for you
with all her heart. That is what I mean by saying that I have known you
for a long time.'

By mutual impulse we bent forward and kissed each other,--a quiet
lingering kiss that spoke of full understanding and sympathy. I had
promised Uncle Max to be good to this girl, to do all I could to help
her, but I did not know as I gave that promise how my heart would cleave
to her, and that in time I should grow to love her with that rare
friendship that is described in Holy Writ as 'passing the love of women.'
We were silent for a little while, and then by some sudden impulse I
began to speak of Max; I told her that I felt a little anxious about him,
that he did not seem quite well or quite happy.

'I have thought so myself,' she returned, very quietly.

'Max is so good that I cannot bear to see him unhappy,--he is so
unselfish, so full of thought for other people, so earnest in his work,
so conscientious and self-denying.'

'True,' she replied, taking up a little toy screen that lay in her lap
and shielding her face from the flame: 'he is all that. If any one
deserves to be happy, it is your uncle.'

I was glad to hear her say this, but her voice was a little constrained.

'He seems very far from happy just now,' was my answer: 'he looks worn
and thin, as though he were overworking himself. I asked him the other
night what ailed him. Are you cold, Miss Hamilton? I thought you shivered
just now.'

'No, no,' she returned, a little impatiently: 'you were speaking of your
uncle.'

'Yes. I could not get him to tell me what was the matter; he began to
joke: you know his way; men are so tiresome sometimes.'

'It is not always easy to understand them,' she said, turning away her
face: 'perhaps they do not wish to be understood. It must be a great
comfort t