he saw it now.

"Well, cousin Jack," he said sadly, "it grieves me that our first meeting
should be like this."

Cousin Jack, struggling with strong emotion, regarded his visitor with a
fixed look. His mouth worked convulsively, and it was some moments before
he could speak. At length he found utterance, in hollow tones, and with
laboured breath.

"Have you--come all this way--across the water--on purpose to see me?"

"Yes," replied "Cobbler" Horn, simply, "of course I have. I wanted you to
know that you are to have your honest share of our poor uncle's money. And
because I was determined to make sure that everything was done for you
that could be done, and because I wished to do some little for you myself,
I did not send, but came."

"Uncle's money! Ah, yes, they told me about it. Well, you might have kept
it all; and it's very good of you--very. But money won't be much use to me
very long. It's your coming that I take so kindly. You see, I hadn't a
friend; and it seemed so dreadful to die like that. Oh, it was good of you
to come!"

In his wonder at the loving solicitude which had brought his cousin across
the water to his dying bed, he almost seemed to undervalue the act of
rare unselfishness by which so much money had been relinquished which
might have been kept without fear of reproach. "Cobbler" Horn was not hurt
by the seeming insensibility of his poor cousin to the great sacrifice he
had made on his behalf. He did not desire, nor did he think that he
deserved, any credit for what he had done. He had simply done his duty, as
a matter of course. But he was much gratified that his poor cousin was so
grateful for his coming. He sat down, with shining eyes, by the bedside,
and took the wasted hand in his once more.

"Cousin," he asked, "have they cared for you in every way?"

"Yes, cousin, they have done what they could, thanks to your goodness!"

"Not at all. Your own money will pay the bill, you know."

For a moment cousin Jack was perplexed. His own money? He had not a cent.
in the world! He had actually forgotten that his cousin had made him rich.

"My own money?"

"Yes; the third part of what uncle left you know."

A slight flush mantled the hollow cheeks.

"Oh yes; what a dunce I am! I'm afraid I'm very ungrateful. But you see I
seem to have done with such things. And yet the money is going to be of
some use to me after all."

"Yes, that it is! It shall bring you comfort, ease, and, if possible