But all this while I have left uncle Bryan regarding me, as I have said, with more than usual interest. From me he turned his attention to the wall, upon which hung the picture of Jessie, in crayons, which I had finished. I said nothing, but proceeded with my work.
'What are you drawing now, Chris?' asked my uncle.
Of course it was a sketch of Jessie. I murmured some words to the effect that it was nothing particular, and was about to put it in my desk, when uncle Bryan expressed a wish to see it. I could not refuse, and I handed it to him. It happened to be one of my happiest efforts; it would have been difficult to find a more winsome face than that which uncle Bryan gazed upon. He contemplated it for a long time without speaking--for so long a time that I asked him if he liked it, so as to break the awkward silence. He did not answer me. With the sketch still in his hand he said to my mother,
'Emma, I have not treated you fairly.'
My mother looked up from her work in surprise. Uncle Bryan continued:
'What I am about to tell you ought to have been told before; but probably no better time than this could be chosen. By the time I have finished, you will perhaps understand my motive for saying so; but whether you do or not, it is due to you that I should clear away some part of the mystery which hangs around Jessie.'
Although I was burning with curiosity, I rose to leave the room, thinking from his manner that what he was about to say was intended only for my mother's ears.
'Nay, Chris,' he said, you can stay. 'You are almost a man, as your mother says, and you may learn something from my words. I am about to read some pages in my life.'
He turned from us, so that we could not see his face; and full five minutes elapsed before he spoke. I was awaiting to hear with so much eagerness what he had to tell, that the five minutes seemed an hour. With his face still averted, he addressed my mother.
'Emma, you know the house in which I was born?'