James Wilton, the banker's brother, uttered something like a sigh, muttered a few words about trying to do his duty, and listened, as the dying man went on-- "I should not have felt satisfied. You two might have disagreed over some marriage business, for there is no other that you will have to control. And I said to myself that Will would not try to play the wicked uncle over my babe. So you are sole executor, with very little to do, for I have provided for everything, I think. Her money stays in the old bank I helped to build up, and the dividends will make her a handsome income. What you have to see to is that she is not snapped up by some plausible scoundrel for the sake of her money. When she does marry--" "Oh, papa, dear, don't, don't! You are breaking my heart. I shall never marry," sobbed the girl, as she laid her sweet young face by the thin, withered countenance on the pillow. "Yes, you will, my pet. I wish it, when the right man comes, who loves you for yourself. Girls like you are too scarce to be wasted. But your uncle will watch over you, and see to that. You hear, Will?" "Yes, I will do my duty by her." "I believe you." "But, papa dear, don't talk more. The doctor said you must be kept so quiet." "I must wind up my affairs, my darling, and think of your future. I've had quite enough of the men hanging about after the rich banker's daughter. When my will is proved, the drones and wasps will come swarming round you for the money. There is no one at all, yet, is there?" he said, with a searching look. "Oh, no, papa, I never even thought of such a thing." "I know it, my darling. I've always been your sweetheart, and we've lived for one another, and I'm loth to leave you, dear." "Oh, father, dearest father, don't talk of leaving me," she sobbed. He smiled sadly, and his feeble hand played with her curls. "God disposes, my own," he said. "But there, I must talk while I can. Now, listen. These are nearly my last words, Will." His brother started and bent forward to hear his half-whispered words, and he wiped the dew from his sun-browned forehead, and shivered a little, for the chilly near approach of death troubled the hale, hearty-looking man, and gave a troubled look to his florid face. "When all is over, Will, as soon as you can, take her down to Northwood, and be a father to her. Her aunt always loved her, and she'll be happy there. Shake hands upon it, Will." The thin, white, trembling hand was placed in the fat, heavy palm extended, and rested there for some minutes before Robert Wilton spoke again. "Everything is set down clearly, Will. The money invested in the bank is hers--one hundred and fifty thousand pounds, strictly tied up. I have seen to that. There, you will do your duty by her, and see that all goes well." "Yes."