you have come, Richard," she said eagerly. "James has
been asking for you and Tom so many times."

Just then a bell rang.

"That's his bell to know if it is you," said Aunt Fanny; and she hurried
up-stairs, to return in a few minutes.

"Come up at once," she said; "you first, Richard;" and she led the way
up-stairs, leaving Tom seated in the drawing-room, looking about at the
familiar objects, and growing more and more low-spirited, as they
recalled many an unhappy hour, and his troubles at the office, and with
his cousin Sam.

But he was not left there long. In a few minutes the door re-opened,
and his aunt and uncle came in.

"You are to go up, Tom," said Uncle Richard. "There is something to be
communicated to you."

"Is--is he so very ill, uncle?" said Tom, with a curious sensation of
shrinking troubling him.

"He is very ill, my boy. But don't keep him waiting."

"Is he in his own room, aunt?" asked Tom.

"Yes, my dear. Pray go softly, he is so weak."

Tom drew a deep breath, and went up to the next floor, tapped lightly at
the bedroom door, and expecting to see a terrible object stretched upon
the bed of sickness in a darkened chamber, he entered, and felt quite a
shock.

For the room was bright and sunlit, the window open, and his uncle,
looking very white and careworn, seated in an easy-chair, dressed, save
that he wore a loose dressing-gown.

"Ah, Tom," he said, holding out a thin hand, "at last--at last."

Tom took the hand extended to him, and felt it clutch his tightly.

"I'm so sorry to see you so ill, uncle," he said.

"Yes, yes, of course, boy; but don't waste time. Let me get it over--
before it is too late."

"You wanted to see me about business, uncle?"

"Yes," said Uncle James, with a groan; "terrible business. Ah, Tom, my
boy. But stop, go to the door, and see that no one is listening."

Tom obeyed, opening and closing the door.

"No, uncle, there is no one there."

"Turn the key, my boy, turn the key."

Tom obeyed, wondering more and more, as he returned to his uncle's side.

"Now, quick," said the sick man; "go to that cupboard, and bring out
that tin box."

He did as he was told, and brought out an ordinary deed-box, which at a
sign he placed upon a chair by his uncle's side.

"Can I do anything else, uncle?"

"Yes, boy," cried the sick man, "and it is my last request. Tom, I've
been a wicked wretch to you, and I want you to forgive me before I die."

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