"How can we help it?" returned Fern, in a choking voice. "Percy ought to know that we can not use any of Mr. Huntingdon's money: neither my mother nor I would ever touch a penny of it. Don't you know," struggling with her tears, "that my poor father died broken-hearted, and he might have saved him?" "Yes, I know," replied Erle, looking kindly at the weeping girl, "and I for one can not say you are wrong. My uncle has dealt very harshly and I fear cruelly by his own flesh and blood--my poor mother often cried as she told me so; but she always said that it was not for us to blame him who lived under his roof and profited by his generosity. He was a benefactor to us in our trouble--for we were poor, too." But here Erle checked himself abruptly, for he did not care to tell Fern that his father had been a gambler, and had squandered all his wife's property; but he remembered almost as vividly as though it were yesterday, when he was playing in their miserable lodgings at Naples, after his father's death--how a grave, stern-faced man came into the room and sat down beside his mother; and one speech had reached his ears. "Never mind all that, Beatrice, you are happier as his widow than his wife. Forget the past, and come home with me, and your boy shall be mine." Erle certainly loved his uncle, and it always pained him to remember his wrong-doing. In his boyish generosity he had once ventured to intercede for the disinherited daughter, and had even gone so far as to implore that his uncle would never put him in Percy's place; but the burst of anger with which his words were received cowed him effectually. "A Trafford shall never inherit my property," Mr. Huntingdon had said, with a frown so black that the boy positively quailed under it; "I would leave it all to a hospital first--never presume to speak to me of this again. Percy does not require any pity; when he leaves Oxford he will read for the Bar. We have arranged all that; he will have a handsome allowance; and with his capacity--for his tutor tells me he is a clever fellow--he will soon carve his way to fortune;" and after this, Erle certainly held his peace. CHAPTER XIV. CRYSTAL. I do remember it. 'Twas such a face As Guido would have loved to look upon. CORNWALL. She was as tender As infancy and grace. SHAKESPEARE. Fern looked a little surprised at Erle's speech. "I did not know you had been poor, too," she returned, drying her eyes, and taking up her work again. "Yes, but I was very young, and knew little about it; my poor mother was the one to suffer. Well, she wanted for nothing when my uncle took us to Belgrave House; he was very good to her until she died; and," with a slight hesitation in his voice, "he is good to me."