"It must be so dreadful not to want love, to be able to do without it;" and again, "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.'" Ah! merciful heavens, would those words never leave him? By-and-bye the torment he suffered became unbearable; whole sentences of that conversation seemed stamped and burned upon the brain. He would say them aloud sometimes, to the terror of those who watched him, and thought his mind was wandering. "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;" and then she had come closer to his chair, and had stood beside him, almost touching him with her hand. He could see her clearly; the whole scene seemed photographed in his memory. Was he dreaming, or was she there really beside his bed? He could recall every expression of her countenance, every trick of her speech. What a young creature she had looked in her shabby dress, sitting there before him. How eloquently she had spoken, and with what self-possession and dignity. Once or twice her voice had faltered, and the tears had gathered in her large brown eyes, as she pleaded for Emmie, but she had brushed them away hastily, and had gone on speaking. If he had ever had a daughter he would have liked her to have looked at him with those clear honest glances. The girl was absolutely without guile. Hard as he was, his heart had yearned over her, and yet he had driven her from his presence. Now and then a strange fancy, almost a longing, seized him, to hear her speak again, if it were only to tell him that she was sorry for him. He called himself a fool, and chid himself for his weakness; but, nevertheless, the longing was there and he knew it. One evening, as Queenie was correcting some themes in the class-room, she was told Mr. Runciman wished to speak to her. Caleb's visits were rare now, but he sometimes came to bring a few snowdrops or violets to his favorite. To-night he was later than usual, and Emmie was asleep. "I am not come to see Emmie to-night; it is you I want, Miss Queenie. You might have knocked me down with a feather when he gave me the message. But I suppose he is in his right mind?" continued Caleb, his blue eyes becoming very round and wide, and his rosy face a trifle paler than usual. "A message from whom?" enquired Queenie, with some degree of curiosity. She was pleased to see her old friend; any break in the monotony of her day was welcome.