--but I would not keep up the sore feeling a minute, I was so pleased
to see him.

No one would call Uncle Geoffrey handsome--oh, dear, no! his
features were too rugged for that; but he had a droll, clever face,
and a pair of honest eyes, and his gray hair was so closely cropped
that it looked like a silver cap. He was a little restless and
fidgety in his movements, too, and had ways that appeared singular to
strangers, but I always regarded his habits respectfully. Clever men,
I thought, were often eccentric; and I was quite angry with my mother
when she used to say, "Geoff was an old bachelor, and he wanted a
wife to polish him; I should like to see any woman dare to marry
Uncle Geoff."

"Seventeen, sweet seventeen! Eh, Esther?" but he still held my hand
and looked at me thoughtfully. It was then I first noticed how grave
he looked.

"Have you come from Combe Manor, Uncle Geoff, and are they all quite
well at home?" I asked, rather anxiously, for he seemed decidedly
nervous.

"Well, no," he returned, rather slowly; "I am sorry to spoil your
holiday, child, but I have come by your mother's express desire to
fetch you home. Frank--your father, I mean--is not well, and they
will be glad of your help and--bless me"--Uncle Geoff's favorite
exclamation--"how pale the girl looks!"

"You are keeping something from me--he is very ill--I know he is
very ill!" I exclaimed, passionately. "Oh, uncle, do speak out! he is