"It is because I can't, uncle, dear. The words sees to choke me. It is such a promise to make." "But you never cared for any one else?" "Oh no, uncle dear. I never hardly thought of such a thing." "No; always shut up here in the dingy old Mynns with me." "Where I have been very happy, uncle." "And Heaven knows I tried to make you so, my child. And you will be happy when I'm gone--with George. For he is all I say--a true, noble fellow. But--but," he cried, peering into the girl's eyes from under his shaggy brows, "suppose he is ugly?" "Well, uncle dear," said the girl with a little laugh, "what does that matter?" "Ay, what does that matter? But he can't be ugly, Gertie. Such a handsome little fellow as he was when I saw him last. And he'll be a rich man, Gertie. He shall have The Mynns and everything, for the injury and wrong I did his father--my poor, poor boy!" "Uncle, dear, don't reproach yourself," cried the girl, kissing the withered forehead, as the old man's voice broke into a whimper, and his hands trembled. "It was all a mistake." "No, Gertie, my dear; I was a hard, bitter, passionate man, and made no allowances for him. He would not stick to business, and he would marry one woman when I wanted him to marry another, and I told him he'd be a beggar all his life, and we quarrelled. Yes, he defied me, Gertie, when I told him he would come cringing upon his knees for money, and he said he would sooner starve. Only like yesterday," continued the old man after a pause, "and I never saw him but once more, he came to say good-bye, with his wife, before they sailed for what he called the Golden West, and we quarrelled again because he disobeyed me and would not stay. I was ready to forgive him, Gertie, if he would have stayed and taken to business, but he wouldn't stop with the arbitrary old tyrant, and they went and took their boy." The old man lay silent for some minutes, raising the girl's soft little hand to his lips from time to time. Then he startled her by bursting into a long low laugh. "Uncle, dear!"