‘It is my most earnest wish. But since we have spoken of this, I may as well tell you the whole truth. I have loved your niece for a long time--for years. When I find an opportunity, I intend asking her to become my wife. Have you anything against it?’ Mr. Blisset pressed the young man’s hand with a clasp which had grown feeble. ‘You make me very happy. I would rather know her safe in your hands than in those of any other man.’ ‘I wish you could know it,’ said Sebastian, with a somewhat melancholy smile. ‘I assure you I am far from feeling confident myself, but I hope for the best.’ ‘I think you may be quite confident,’ said Mr. Blisset. ‘Poor child! now she need not be alone, and has a fair chance of a safe, untroubled future, such as a woman ought to enjoy.’ Shortly after this Sebastian left him, and went away without seeing Adrienne. Later, she went upstairs to sit with her uncle, and ask if she should read to him. ‘No, thank you, my child. I shall need no more reading now, Adrienne. Your wearisome, monotonous task is almost at an end.’ ‘Dear uncle, what do you mean?’ ‘I am what men call dying, my dear. Whether it is the end of all things for each one of us, or whether it is but the beginning of an endless succession of advancing lives, very soon I shall know--or I shall not know.’ She kissed his hand. ‘You must not talk in that way. You have been very good to me, and I cannot spare you. I love you, uncle--you must not leave me.’ ‘I fear your pleasure will not be consulted on that point, my daughter,’ said he, with a strange half-smile, half-pity, half-deep amusement. ‘Ah! Adrienne, when men have lived--or existed--as I have done, and for so long, they are not sorry when the machinery comes to a stop, and they know no more.’ Much moved and much distressed, she listened to him until he sent her away, telling her to sleep undisturbedly, for he would yet live to talk with her, and convince her that it was for the best. But he was wrong. When morning dawned, Richard Blisset was at rest, and free from the mantle of pain and weakness which he had worn so long. CHAPTER VI. ‘TO THE DREGS.’ The merry month of May, in the year of grace 1862, and in that part of her Majesty’s dominions known as the County Palatine of Lancaster, wore a face even less smiling and colder than usual. Despite the gaudy sunshine, despite the unusual chances offered to external nature, of showing herself to the best advantage through the absence of smoke--despite this, all was sad, penitential, silent. One missed the burst of talk and laughter, the chaffing and shouting in the streets when the mills were loosed. One missed the tramp, tramp, of the thousands of clogs over the flags at the appointed times.