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'I don't think I thought about it much,' Gladys answered, with frankness. 'It is very good of you to come so soon.'

'I came because it was my duty. Not many people do their duty in this world, but though I'm a very poor man, I won't shirk it—no, I won't shirk it.' He rubbed his hands together slowly, and nodded across the hearth to his niece. Instead of being pleased, as she ought to have been, with this announcement, she gave a quick little shiver. 'My brother John—your father, I mean—and I have not met for a good number of years, not since we had the misfortune to disagree about a trifle,' continued the old man, keeping his eyes fixed on the girl's face till she found herself made nervous by them. 'Time has proved that I was right, quite right; but my brother John was always, if you will excuse me saying it, rather pigheaded, and'—

'Don't let us speak about him if you do not feel kindly to him!' cried the girl, her great eyes flashing, her slender frame trembling with indignation. 'I will not listen, I will go away and leave you, Uncle Abel, if you speak harshly of papa.'

'So'—Abel Graham slapped his knee as he uttered this meditative monosyllable, and continued to regard his niece with keener scrutiny, if that were possible, than before. 'It is John's temper—a very firebrand. My dear, you are very young, and you should not be above taking advice. Let me advise you to control that fiery passion. Temper doesn't pay—it is one of the things which nothing can ever make pay in this world. Well, will you be so kind as to give me a little insight into the state of your affairs? A poor enough state they appear to be in, if this parson writes truly—only parsons are accustomed to draw the long bow, for the purpose of ferreting money out of people's pockets. Well, my dear, have you nothing to tell me?'

Gladys continued to look at him with dislike and distrust she made no attempt to disguise. If only he would not call her 'my dear.' She resented the familiarity. He had no right to presume on such a short acquaintance.

'I have nothing to tell you, I think,' she said very coldly, 'except that papa is dead, and I have to earn my own living.'

CHAPTER II.

WHAT TO DO WITH HER.

our own living? I am glad to hear you put it so sensibly. I must say I hardly expected it,' said the old man, with engaging frankness. 'Well, but tell me first what your name is. I don't know what to call you.'

'Gladys,' she answered; and her uncle received the information in evident disapproval.

'Gladys! Now, what on earth is the meaning of such a name? Your father and mother ought to be ashamed of themselves! Why can't people name their children so that people won't stare when they hear it? Jane, Susan, Margaret, Christina,—I'm sure there are hundreds of decent names they might have given you. I think a law should be passed that no child shall be named until he is old enough to choose for himself. Mine is bad enough,—they might as well have christened me Cain when they were at it,—but Gladys, it beats all!'

'I have another name, Uncle Abel. I was baptized Gladys Mary.'

'Ah, that's better. Well, I'll call you Mary; it's not so heathenish. And tell me what you have thought of doing for yourself?'

'I have thought of it a great deal, but I have not been able to come to any decision,' answered Gladys. 'Both papa and Mr. Courtney thought I had better wait until you came.'

'Your father expected me to come, then?'

'Yes, to the last he hoped you would. He had something to say to you, he said. And the last morning, when his mind began to wander, he talked of you a great deal.'

These details Gladys gave in a dry, even voice, which betrayed a keen effort. She spoke almost as if she had set herself a task.

'I came as soon as I could. The parson wrote urgently, but I know how parsons draw the long bow, so I didn't hurry. Business must be attended to, whatever happens. You don't know what it was your father wished to say? He never asked you to write it, or anything?'

'No, but in his wandering he talked of money a great deal, and he seemed to think,' she added, with a slight hesitation, 'that you had taken some from him. Of course it was only his fancy. Sick people often think such things.'

'He could not possibly in his senses have thought so, for I never had any money, or he either. We could not rob each other when there was nothing to rob,' said the old man, but he avoided slightly his niece's clear gaze. 'Well, Mary, I am willing to do what I can for you, as you are my brother's only child, so you had better prepare to return to Scotland with me.'

Gladys tried to veil her shrinking from the prospect, but her sweet face grew even graver as she listened.

'I am a very poor man,' he repeated, with an emphasis which left no doubt that he wished it to be impressed firmly on her mind,—'very poor; but I trust I know my duty. I don't suppose, now, that you have been taught to work with your hands—in the house, I mean—the woman's kingdom?'

This sentimental phrase fell rather oddly from the old man's lips. He looked the very last man to entertain any high and chivalrous ideal of womanhood. Gladys could not forbear a smile as she answered,—

'I am afraid I am rather ignorant, Uncle Abel. I have never had occasion to do it.'

'Never had occasion; hear her!' repeated the old man, quite as if addressing an audience. 'She has never had any occasion. She has been born and cradled in the lap of luxury, and I was a born fool to ask the question.'

The desolate child felt the keenness of the sarcasm, and her eyes filled with hot tears. 'You don't understand, Uncle Abel, you never can understand, and there is no use trying to make you,' she said curiously. 'I think I had better call Miss Peck to get tea for us.'

'Not yet; we must settle everything, then we needn't talk any more. I am your only relation in the world, and as I have been summoned, perhaps unnecessarily, on this occasion, I must, and will, do my duty. I have not taken the long and expensive journey from Scotland for nothing, remember that. So sit down, Mary, and tell me exactly how matters stand. How much money have you?'

The colour mounted high to the girl's white brow, and her proud mouth quivered. Never had she so felt the degradation of her poverty! Now it seemed more than she could bear. But she looked straight into her uncle's unlovely countenance, and made answer, with a calmness which surprised herself,—

'There is no money, none at all—not even enough to pay all that must be paid.'

Abel Graham almost gasped.

'All that must be paid! And, in Heaven's name, how much is that? Try to be practical and clear-headed, and remember I am a poor man, though willing to do my duty.'

'Mr. Courtney and I talked of it this morning, when we arranged that the funeral should be to-morrow,' Gladys answered in a calm, straight, even voice, 'and we thought that there might be five pounds to pay when all was over. Papa has some pictures at the dealers'—two in Boston, and three, I think, in London. Perhaps there might be enough from these to pay.'

'You have the addresses of these dealers, I hope?' said the old