mean what I said a few minutes ago, Uncle Richard,"
said Noll, chokingly; "there was not a word of truth in it, and I
oughtn't to have said such a thing."

A deep silence followed, broken at last by another "Well?" from
Trafford's lips.

"Will you forgive me, Uncle Richard? I was angry then, and I _don't_
wish I was back at Hastings," said Noll, grieved, and fearful lest he
had only put a wider gulf between himself and his uncle.

Trafford was silent so long that the boy ventured to raise his eyes.
To his surprise and astonishment, his uncle was regarding him with
eyes that were neither cold nor stern, but almost tender and yearning.

"Oh! do you forgive me?" Noll cried, taking hope.

Trafford laid his hand on his nephew's fair, curly hair, stroking it
gently as he had once before done on the boy's arrival.

"You need not ask that, Noll," he said. "Go where you will,--I can
trust you."

"But I'll not go to Wind Cliff?" said Noll, "and I wish--you don't
know how much, Uncle Richard!--that I could take back those words."

"There is no need," said his uncle. "Go where you will."

Noll took his departure, more confident than ever that under Uncle
Richard's coldness and seeming indifference there lurked love and
regard for himself, and, true to his word, gave up all idea of
ascending the cliff.

As for Trafford, though outwardly stern and cold as ever, his heart
went out to the boy more yearningly after that. The month was drawing
near its close, and in spite of himself, he could not regard the
approaching day on which Noll's decision was to be made without some
forebodings. Yet, lest the boy should be influenced by perceiving that
his uncle wished his presence, Trafford was gloomier and more
forbidding than ever, those last days. The boy should be perfectly
free to make his choice, he thought; he would use no influence to
change or bias his decision in any manner.

"Everything I have set my heart upon has been snatched away by death,"
he said to himself; "Noll shall stay only because it is his choice.
Never will I, by look or voice, influence him to share my life and
loneliness. If he stays, and I love him as my own, just so surely will
death snatch him away."

But that the boy was a great comfort and delight to him he could not
but confess to himself. He was surprised to find how, in those few
short weeks, his cheery presence had won upon his heart. He watched
him from the window as