"You think so, eh?" regarding her with astonishment and perplexity. Strange to say, her independent answers and fearless bearing did not displease him; on the contrary, they seemed to allay his wrath. The white eyebrows twitched involuntarily as he watched her from under them. In spite of himself and his anger, he felt an inexplicable yearning towards this girl, who sat there in her shabby clothes and looked at him with such clear, honest eyes. Somehow the young presence seemed to lighten the desolate room, so long untrodden by any woman's foot. "If she were any one but Frank Marriott's daughter--" but here the softer mood evaporated. "Tut! what should you know of such things? There, you have said your lesson, and said it well. Go home, girl; go home." "Shall I go back to your niece, sir, and say to her that one of her own flesh and blood has deserted her?" "I have no niece, I tell you; I will not have a hated relationship forced upon me." "Your name is Andrew Calcott, and therefore you are Emmie's uncle. Take care, for heaven's sake; you cannot get rid of your responsibility in this way. If Emmie dies her death will lie at your door." "I am sorry to ask a lady to withdraw, but I will hear no more." "One moment, and I will take your hint," returned Queenie, rising and turning very pale. "You are merciless, Mr. Calcott, but you shall not find me troublesome after this, though we were perishing of hunger, though Emmie were dying in my arms. I will not crave your bounty. You have received me coldly," she continued with emotion, "you have given me hard, sneering words, but I do not resent them; you are refusing to help me in my bitter strait; you are leaving me young and single-handed to fight in this cruel, cruel world; you have disowned your own niece, and are sending me back to her almost broken-hearted, but I will not reproach you; nay, if it would not make you angry, I could almost say, I am sorry for you." "Sorry for me! Is the girl mad?" but again the white eyebrows twitched uneasily. "I am sorry for you," repeated Queenie, in her clear young voice, "because you are old and lonely; because you have only hard, miserable thoughts to keep you company; because when you are ill no one will comfort you, when you die no one will shed tears over your grave. It must be so dreadful," continued the girl, "not to want love, to be able to do without it. Don't be angry, Mr. Calcott, I am sorry for you; I am indeed." Not only the eyelids, but the rigid lines of the mouth twitched convulsively, but his only answer was to point to the door; but, as though irresistibly and painfully attracted by this spectacle of loveless old age, Queenie still lingered. "Emmie never forgets you, sir. She does not love you; how can she? but she still says the prayer mamma taught her--'God bless poor Uncle Andrew.' Now I have seen you I shall ask her never to forget it."