"Certainly not, Milly. If you like, I will tell you what Stephen says you ought to do with it." "What, Ellen?" My aunt asked the question; but I feel certain she knew what the answer would be, for that quick flush rose to her cheek, and her manner was excited. "You will not be vexed at me, dear Milly, if I tell you. Stephen says that Edmund Dene's children are the only fitting heirs of Denesfield. He does not, for an instant, deny your perfect right to dispose of the property which is your own, as much as wealth can be, by any human law. We neither of us believe you will ever marry again, therefore the responsibility of disposing of this wealth rests upon you. But after all, dear, we are but stewards in God's sight, and this wealth is one of the talents to be accounted for." "I am striving to use it rightly, Ellen," replied my aunt gently; "and I am thankful for advice and guidance." "Yes, dear; and while you hold it, I shall have no fear that it will not be turned to good account." "Yes; but I often fear for myself. I feel that I have years of indolence and neglect to regret—all that long time when I neither used the money nor gave it to those who needed it. Still, if, when I no longer want the wealth, I may not leave it to the friends I really love, but to people I have only known as enemies, my stewardship would be a burden, indeed." "I would not say enemies, Milly. Edmund Dene, being the elder brother, thought it very hard when all the riches of his uncle, as well as the old estates, went to your husband. He had no claim to anything; but the disappointment must have been hard to bear. Think, dear Milly, had you been in his place, would you have said no sharp word—had no envious feeling?" "It was a hard thing to bear, no doubt of that," returned Aunt Milly frankly. "And now," resumed mamma, "the young Denes are growing up; the eldest, William, is about twenty, I believe. Stephen has heard a good deal about him from an old college friend, and he says what a fine young fellow he is, how hard he is working, denying himself every indulgence that he may not be a burden to his mother, and earning money by private teaching even while a student himself. I have told you all these things, Milly, because I want you to think of them. And, in this blessed season of peace and goodwill, remember your husband's kindred. Forget all past differences. Love and forgive, even as God, for Christ's sake, loves and pardons." The tears were in my dear mother's eyes as she thus pleaded so eloquently; and as she ended she heard a quick sob, and saw that Aunt Milly's eyes too were wet. Then after a short silence, my aunt said: "Ellen, you have done right to speak boldly and frankly. I will think over this conversation, and I will pray to be guided aright."