“Do not notice my looks before your uncle,” she said, pleadingly; “he is so anxious about me; but indeed, I am only a little tired; I shall be better now I have told you and got it over. You have been on my mind, Merle, and then that horrid accident.” But I would not let her dwell upon that. We had reached the cottage by this time, and Patience was watching for us; she looked prettier and rosier than ever. I found Uncle Keith sitting pillowed up in an armchair by the drawing-room fire. I thought he looked shrunken, and there was a pinched look about his features. He had not grown younger and handsomer to my eyes, but as he turned his prominent brown eyes on me with a kind look of welcome, and held out his thin hand, I kissed him with real affection, and my eyes were a little wet. “Hir-rumph, my dear, I am pleased to see you—there, there, never mind my stupid illness; I am quite a giant now, eh, Agatha? It is worth being ill, Merle, to be nursed by your aunt; oh, quite a luxury I assure you! Hir-rumph.” And here Uncle Keith cleared his throat in his usual fashion, and stirred the fire rather loudly, though he looked a little paler after the exercise. “But I am so dreadfully sorry, Uncle Keith,” I said, when Aunt Agatha had taken the poker from him and bustled out of the room to fetch him some jelly, “to think I never knew how ill you were.” “That was all the better, child,” he returned, cheerfully. “Agatha was a wise woman not to tell you; but there are not many people in the world, Merle, who would come up to your aunt, not many,” rubbing his hands together. “No indeed, Uncle Keith.” “How do you think she looks?” he continued, turning round rather sharply. “Have I tired her out, eh?” “She looks a little tired certainly.”