a name we had agreed I should assume before we parted
in America.

"The rest of my story you know. My father was killed in an accident on
his own railroad, and I received the news while we were prisoners of the
brigand, whom I discovered to be my uncle, but who had no mercy upon me
because of the relationship. To-night, on my return here, I found a
letter from my father's attorney, forwarded from my bankers in Paris.
Through my father's sudden death I have inherited all his wealth, as he
had no time to alter his will. Therefore Mrs. Merrick's objection to me
is now removed, and Louise has never cared whether I had a penny or
not."

He halted, as if not knowing what more to say, and the little group of
listeners remained quiet because it seemed that no remark from them was
necessary. Young Weldon, however, was ill at ease, and after hitching
nervously in his chair he addressed Uncle John in these words:

"Sir, you are the young lady's guardian for the present, as she is in
your charge. I therefore ask your consent to our formal engagement."

"Not any," said Uncle John, decidedly. "I'll sanction no engagement of
any children on this trip. You are wrong in supposing I am Louise's
guardian--I'm just her chum and uncle. It's like cradle-snatching to
want to marry a girl of sixteen, and you ought to be ashamed of
yourself, for you can't be much more than twenty-one yourself. While
Louise is in my care I won't have any entanglements of any sort, so
you'll have to wait till you get home and settle the business with her
mother."

"Very wise and proper, sir," said Mr. Watson, nodding gravely.

Louise's cheeks were flaming.

"Do you intend to drive Arthur away, Uncle?" she asked.

"Why should I, my dear? except that you've both taken me for a blind old
idiot and tried to deceive me. Let the boy stay with us, if he wants
to, but he'll have to cut out all love-making and double-dealing from
this time on--or I'll take you home in double-quick time."

The young man seemed to resent the indictment.

"The deception seemed necessary at the time, sir," he said, "and you
must not forget the old adage that 'all's fair in love and war.' But I
beg that you will forgive us both and overlook our fault, if fault it
was. Hereafter it is our desire to be perfectly frank with you in all
things."

That was a good way to disarm Uncle John's anger, and the result was
immediately apparent.

"Very good," said the old gentleman; "if you ar