Uncle, you are not looking well to-night. "I'm not well, Florence. I sometimes doubt if I shall ever be any better." "Surely, uncle, you cannot mean -" "Yes, my child, I have reason to believe that I am nearing the end." "I cannot bear to hear you speak so, uncle," said Florence Linden, in irrepressible agitation. "You are not an old man. You are but fifty-four." "True, Florence, but it is not years only that make a man old. Two great sorrows have embittered my life. First, the death of my dearly beloved wife, and next, the loss of my boy, Harvey." "It is long since I have heard you refer to my cousin's loss. I thought you had become reconciled - no, I do not mean that, - I thought your regret might be less poignant."