Another of the gentlemen now coming up, the conversation was changed, and shortly afterwards Captain Bradshaw’s carriage was announced. Neither spoke upon their way home, and the only words exchanged as they separated upon the stair, were “Good night, uncle;” “Good night, Alice. You look tired.” The next morning Alice looked pale and ill, but her uncle made no observation. They were silent at breakfast, at last Alice said resolutely,— “Uncle, you will not be angry with me?” “I don’t know, Alice; I hope not.” “I have always been a good girl, Guardy, haven’t I?” “Yes, Alice, a very good girl.” “I have never teased you, or wanted to have my own way, have I?” “Well, Alice, you have not teased me more than was reasonable that a young woman should do, and I don’t know that I ever particularly wanted you to go any way you did not yourself like.” Captain Bradshaw spoke playfully, but he quite guessed what Alice was going to say, and was fully prepared to resist her. “Uncle, you had heard before of Frank having lost all his money?” “Yes, I had heard it before, Alice,” Captain Bradshaw said, and then muttered to himself, “and serve him right too.” “Uncle,” Alice said, pleadingly, “can you bear to think of Frank with his young wife and a baby being in want, in absolute want?” “He must do as other people do, my dear, and work for his living. He is strong enough.” Alice saw that it was useless trying to move her uncle, and that if she persisted he would only get into a passion, and make what she had quite resolved to do the more difficult. “Uncle Harry, you know that I quite think with you about Frank. Quite agree with you that he can never be to us what he formerly was, without he explains and expresses repentance and sorrow for the past; and if I know anything at all of Frank, if he could not, or would not, do it when you first wrote to him, and when he was comfortably off, he will not do it now.” “I quite agree with you there, Alice.” “Well, uncle, I don’t wish to influence you at all, but for the sake of old times, for the sake of the boy I loved as a girl, I will not let him want. I believe, uncle, that I have absolute control over my fortune?” “Yes, Miss Heathcote,” her uncle said, coldly, “I am sorry to say that you have.” “Oh, uncle,” Alice said, bursting into tears, “don’t speak so to me; you are the only person I have to love in the world, but I must help Frank.” “Well, my dear,” the old man said, more kindly, “have your own way. ‘A wilful woman,’ you know; but mind, I don’t oppose you simply because I can’t. If I could, I would. I tell you that fairly; but if in spite of that you choose to have your own way, I shall not quarrel with you about it. I have had quarrelling enough in my time, God knows, and I am not going to quarrel with you.” “Thank you, uncle,” Alice said, brightening up. “I am sorry I can’t do as you want me. I am really. But I cannot help it. I have fifty thousand pounds, haven’t I?” “Yes, Alice.”