"You did--you did. But I acted for the best. Forty thousand I leave to
my dear daughter Kate."

A look of interest came over Girdlestone's face. "And the balance?" he
asked.

"I leave that to be equally divided among the various London
institutions for educating the poor. We were both poor boys ourselves,
John, and we know the value of such schools."

Girdlestone looked perhaps a trifle disappointed. The sick man went on
very slowly and painfully--

"My daughter will have forty thousand pounds. But it is so tied up that
she can neither touch it herself nor enable any one else to do so until
she is of age. She has no friends, John, and no relations, save only my
cousin, Dr. George Dimsdale. Never was a girl left more lonely and
unprotected. Take her, I beg of you, and bring her up under your own
eye. Treat her as though she were your child. Guard her above all from
those who would wreck her young life in order to share her fortune.
Do this, old friend, and make me happy on my deathbed."

The merchant made no answer. His heavy eyebrows were drawn down, and
his forehead all puckered with thought.

"You are the one man," continued the sufferer, "whom I know to be just
and upright. Give me the water, for my mouth is dry. Should, which God
forbid, my dear girl perish before she marries, then--" His breath
failed him for a moment, and he paused to recover it.