“A little!” she said, choking back a sob. “No one in all the world has ever been to me what you have been. You have been my confidant—my most intimate friend. I have never been able to go to papa, nor to poor mamma while she lived, and tell them my troubles as I have to you. I don’t know why it was, but papa always laughed at and teased me, and mamma was too busy to attend to me. But you always put by everything and listened to me. Uncle Richard, I believe—I ought not to say it, perhaps, but I can just whisper it to _you_ now—I believe I love you best of any one in all the world;” and Editha laid her cheek against his in a fond way that told how very dear he was to her. “My dear child,” the dying man said, with starting tears and trembling lip, “your words are very precious. I have been a very lonesome man for—for many years, but you have been a great comfort to me. Now, I want to talk very seriously to you for a little while. Do you think you can bear it?” “Yes, but—but I am afraid it will not do for you to talk; the doctor said you must not have any excitement,” Editha said knowing full well what subject was uppermost in his mind and shrinking from talking about it. “It will not make any difference now, Edie, dear—a few hours or less will not matter to me——” “Uncle Richard!” gasped the girl, as if she could not bear it. “My dear, we both know that death must come to me soon,” he said, gently, but with a sad smile; “the parting _must_ come. If I do not get excited, I suppose I may live a few hours longer; but I have some things that must be said, whether they excite me or not, and which I can say only to you; and, as I said before, a few hours will not matter. Do not weep thus, my darling; I cannot bear _that_,” he added, as the golden head dropped upon his breast and Editha wept rebelliously. “Uncle Richard, you are my only real friend; I cannot, _cannot_ let you go. What shall I do without you?” “Edie, dear, you must not give way thus—you must be brave and calm; it excites me more than anything else to see you grieve so,” he said, huskily, as his lips pressed her shining hair, and his eyes were filled with tears. She raised her head instantly and made an effort at self-control. “Then I will not trouble you any more. Forgive me;” and her red lips sought his, so pale and drawn. “That is right, dear do not let this, our last hour, perhaps, be wasted in tears and vain regrets. You know, Edie,” he continued, after a few minutes’ thought, “or, at least, I suppose you know, that I am considered to be very rich.” “Yes; but oh! if we could only give it all and have you well again,” she mourned.