time, in two locks in front of the ears. The eyes were blue and clear, and the under jaw was slightly projecting. Miss Cordsen sat a long time gazing at the portrait, and tear after tear dropped down among the other secrets which lay cherished in the old press among the linen and dry lavender.
Uncle Richard sat gazing at his brother. The doctor's words had deprived him of all hope, but even yet he could not bring himself to believe that the end could be so near.
"It will soon be all over, Richard," said the invalid, in a feeble voice.
The attaché sat down by the side of the bed, and after a short struggle broke into tears, and laid his head on the coverlid.
"Here am I, so strong and well," he sobbed, "and can't do even the smallest thing to help you! I have never been anything to you but a trouble and a burden."
"Nonsense, Dick!" answered the Consul; "you have been everything to me—you and the business. But I have something for which to ask your forgiveness before I die."
"My forgiveness?" Uncle Richard thought he was wandering, and looked up.
"Yes," said the Consul, as what was almost a smile passed over the half-stiffened features. "I have made a fool of you. Your account does not exist. It was only a joke. Are you angry with me?"
How could he possibly be angry? He laid his face down again on the withered hand, and as he lay there
