u understand me, but I can say nothing
more.'

'I understand you very well--too well. That you should misunderstand and
mistrust me, I suppose, is natural. You are young, and I am old. You are
still full of hope, and I have been so often deceived and defeated that
I dare not let a ray of hope enter my mind. Judge me; judge me as hardly
as you like. My life has been one long, bitter struggle, and if now--. I
say,' he began a new sentence, 'that only the hard side of life has been
shown to me; small wonder if I have become hard myself. Desert me;
go your own Way, as the young always do. But bear in mind my warning.
Remember the caution I have given you.'

He spoke in a strangely sudden agitation. The arm with which he leaned
upon the table trembled violently. After a moment's pause he added, in a
thick voice:

'Leave me. I will speak to you again in the morning.'

Impressed in a way she did not understand, Marian at once obeyed, and
rejoined her mother in the parlour. Mrs Yule gazed anxiously at her as
she entered.

'Don't be afraid,' said Marian, with difficulty bringing herself to
speak. 'I think it will be better.'

'Was that a telegram that came?' her mother inquired after a silence.

'Yes. I don't know where it was from. But father said he would have to
leave town for a few days.'

They exchanged looks.

'Perhaps your uncle is very ill,' said the mother in a low voice.

'Perhaps so.'

The evening passed drearily. Fatigued with her emotions, Marian went
early to bed; she even slept later than usual in the morning, and on
descending she found her father already at the breakfast-table. No
greeting passed, and there was no conversation during the meal. Marian
noticed that her mother kept glancing at her in a peculiarly grave way;
but she felt ill and dejected, and could fix her thoughts on no subject.
As he left the table Yule said to her:

'I want to speak to you for a moment. I shall be in the study.'

She joined him there very soon. He looked coldly at her, and said in a
distant tone:

'The telegram last night was to tell me that your uncle is dead.'

'Dead!'

'He died of apoplexy, at a meeting in Wattleborough. I shall go down
this morning, and of course remain till after the funeral. I see no
necessity for your going, unless, of course, it is your desire to do
so.'

'No; I should do as you wish.'

'I think you had better not go to the Museum whilst I am away. You will
occupy yourself as you