ch will provide her board for the
next two or three years, at any rate; I do not cast her on
your charity. I have two requests to make, and if your
religion teaches you to have any regard for the wishes of a
dying man, I trust you will hold them sacred as such. In the
first place, I demand of you that you should not bring her up
to be a nun; she has not, and never will have, the slightest
vocation--is not that the right word?--for such a life. My wish
is that she should be educated for the stage, but I do not
absolutely desire it; circumstances must in some measure
decide, and something must be left to your discretion, but a
nun she shall not be. In the second place, respect my memory,
so far as my little Madeleine is concerned. Keep your powers
of abusing me, if they be not already exhausted, for the
benefit of others; she has never been separated from me since
she was an infant, and the little fool has actually learnt to
love me, and to believe in me. It is an innocent delusion, and
has made her happy--do not disturb it. I tell you, my sister,
it will be the worst work you have yet wrought upon earth, and
an evil day for you, if, even when I am in my grave, you try
to come between me and my daughter.

"Your brother,

"Adolphe Linders."

"I will sign it," said the sick man, holding out his hand for
the pen. He had dictated the letter with some pauses and gasps
for breath, but in the uniform indifferent voice that he had
adopted since the beginning of the conversation. He dropped
the pen, when he had scrawled the signature with almost
powerless fingers, and his hand fell heavily on the bed again.
"That is done," he said, and, after a pause, continued:
"Monsieur, circumstances have compelled me to place a
confidence in you, with which, at another time, I should have
hesitated to burden you, fearing to cause you inconvenience."

"You cause me no inconvenience, and I shall do my best to
carry out your wishes," said Horace. "In return, I must beg of
you to keep yourself quiet now."

"One moment, Monsieur--my money you will find in that desk, as
I have said; after paying my funeral and other expenses, you
will, I think, find there is still the sum left that I have
named in my letter. I must beg of you to hand it over to my
sister. I can trust her so far, I believe; and I will not have
my child a pauper on her hands, dependent on her charity for
food and clothing; otherwise it might have been wiser--however,
it i