Thus day by day she thought of him and planned for his comfort and happiness. The days grew longer and longer to her as the time drew nearer, until she became so restless, nervous and impatient, that her appetite failed, and all her interest in other things waned. The week before Christmas she sought her lawyer, and had a long talk with him regarding her uncle’s strange bequest. It was the first he had heard of it, for she had been loth to say much about it, knowing her father’s bitter opposition. But it could be put off no longer, and she hoped Mr. Dalton would be ashamed to refuse his signature when the paper should be presented by the lawyer; and though Mr. Felton was somewhat surprised at the information, yet his admiration for the fair girl increased fourfold as he observed how heartily she appeared to second Mr. Forrester’s wishes. “I will make out the papers with pleasure, Miss Editha,” he said; “you want them for Christmas Day—they shall be ready, and a fine gift it will be for the young man. Poor fellow! I always felt sorry for him, he was such a promising chap; and I’m glad he’s going to have something to start with—he’ll need it bad enough with every man’s hand against him.” “Yes, sir; but I believe Mr. Wayne will live down his misfortune and command the respect of every one who ever knew him,” said Editha flushing. She did not like to hear Earle pitied in that way, as if he had fallen into sudden temptation and was guilty; she _knew_ he was innocent, and she wanted everybody else to think so, too. “You will come and dine with us that day, will you not, Mr. Felton? I shall invite Earle to dinner. I want to make the day pleasant for him if I can—he is so alone in the world, you know,” she added. Mr. Felton searched the flushed face keenly a moment, then said: “Thank you, Miss Editha; I shall be happy to do so, as I am also somewhat alone in the world—that is, if it will be agreeable to all parties. Have you talked this matter over with Mr. Dalton? Does he approve of the measures you are taking?” Editha’s face clouded. “No,” she answered, reluctantly; “papa does not approve of my giving Mr. Wayne the money; but, of course, it must be done. It was Uncle Richard’s wish.” “Ahem! Excuse me, Miss Editha, but how old are you?” Mr. Felton asked, reflectively. “I was twenty the twentieth of November, but——” “Then you will not be of age until the twentieth of _next_ November. I am sorry to disappoint you; but since this bequest was not included in the will of Mr. Forrester, and you are under age, you can convey no property to any one without Mr. Dalton’s sanction.” Editha’s face was very sad and perplexed. “So papa told me himself,” she sighed. “Is there _no_ way, Mr. Felton, that I can give Earle this money without his signing the papers?” “I am afraid not. He is your natural guardian, and everything will have to be submitted to his approval, at least until the twentieth of next November, nearly a year.”