“Not in the least!” he replied. “The man can ride.” “And may I go with him?--that is, if you do not want me!--I wish I could stay with you!” “Rather than ride home with him?” “Yes, indeed, if it were to be of use to you!” “The only way you can be of use to me, is to ride home with Mr. Day, and not see him again until I have had a little talk with him. Tyranny may be a sense of duty, you know, little one!” “Tyranny, uncle!” I cried, as I laid my cheek to his hand, which was very cold. “You could not make me think you a tyrant!” “I should not like you to think me one, darling! Still less would I like to deserve it, whether you thought me one or not! But I could not be a tyrant to you if I would. You may defy me when you please.” “That would be to poison my own soul!” I answered. “You must understand,” he continued, “that I have no authority over you. If you were going to marry Mr. Day to-morrow, I should have no right to interfere. I am but a make-shift father to you, not a legal guardian.” “Don't cast me off, uncle!” I cried. “You _know_ I belong to you as much as if you were my very own father! I am sure my father will say so when we see him. He will never come between you and me.” He gave a great sigh, and his face grew so intense that I felt as if I had no right to look on it. “It is one of the deepest hopes of my existence,” he said, “to give you back to him the best of daughters. Be good, my darling, be good, even if you die of sorrow because of it.” The intensity had faded to a deep sadness, and there came a silence. “Would you like me to go now, uncle?” I asked. “I wish I could see Mr. Day at once,” he returned, “but I am so far from strong, that I fear both weakness and injustice. Tell him I want very much to see him, and will let him know as soon as I am able.” “Thank you, uncle! He will be so glad! Of course he can't feel as I do, but he does feel that to do anything you did not like, would be just horrid.” “And you will not see him again, little one, after he has taken you home, till I have had some talk with him?” “Of course I will not, uncle.” I bade him good-bye, had a few moments' conference with Martha, and found John at the place appointed. CHAPTER XVIII. JOHN SEES SOMETHING. As we rode, I told him everything. It did not seem in the least strange that I should be so close to one of whom a few days before I had never heard; it seemed as if all my life I had been waiting for him, and now he was come, and everything was only as it should be! We were very quiet in our gladness. Some slight anxiety about my uncle's decision, and the certain foreboding of trouble on the part of his mother, stilled us both, sending the delight of having found each other a little deeper and out of the way of the practical and reasoning.