Shortly after she had left the room, Mabel herself entered, and, seeing it unoccupied, took up a book, to wait for her uncle's return. She had not waited very long, before he returned alone. Mabel advanced timidly to meet him. "Dear uncle," she said, "I want you to tell me that you were not offended with me yesterday." "Offended with you, my poor child," said he, kindly; "far from it. Sad I am, indeed, about many things. I cannot bear the thought that my daughters' unkindness forces you to fly from us." "Do not blame them, do not think of that, dear uncle, and believe only, how thankful I am that you have already shewn me so much kindness. I do not need consideration as much as I did, for I am quite resigned to all my losses now, and can go into the world and meet it with courage." "I wish you were not going on Wednesday, either, for I have business which I must attend to that evening, and I should like to have spent it with you." "Better as it is," said Mabel, smiling faintly, "I could not bear the thought of its being a last evening." "No, no,--not the last by many times, I hope," said her uncle, "but I shall be up to see you into the coach in the morning, and, perhaps, may go a stage with you. But now I want to ask you how much money you will require for the present?" "None, I thank you," said Mabel, smiling at the coolness with which he, evidently, hoped to surprise her into taking some. "You pain me," he said, taking out a well-filled purse. "See, I have been to the bank to replenish my store for you, you will not grieve me, I am sure." "No, no, dear uncle," said she, putting aside his hand. "I accept your kind offer, but will not take it now. Should I lose my health, or ever be really destitute--should all my bright visions fail, and leave me one among the many who know not where to find their daily bread while every friend shrinks from them--then I will come to you for my purse, but not till then. Nay, you know not how I prize my independence, do not take from me the only bright speck I see at this moment in my future course." "Noble-hearted girl," he said, looking almost proudly on the bright and beaming face which was turned to him. "Mind, I take that promise, and I shall return this purse to a place of safety, where it shall remain untouched for you. Ah, but I wish you could be with us still, I grieve, beyond expression, over the cause of your departure." "Oh, no, indeed, it is much better for me, very much better, if you knew all--do not think of it again; when I have got over the pain of parting from you, my kind, good uncle, I shall be very happy I have no doubt." But her lips trembled as she made this assertion, and, feeling her courage fail, she hastily left the study to spare him the sight of her agitation. CHAPTER VIII.