"Then you are very happy now," said little Margery.
"I'm happier, miss; yes, truly, I'm happier than ever I was before, but I can't forget the past. I'd give anything to be able to live the years of my life over again."
"What a number you would have to live!" said little Margery thoughtfully. "For you're very old, aren't you, Mr. Betts?"
"Ay, missy, I'm old," he answered.
He felt old indeed when a little later, he found himself by his brother's bedside. To think that that big, sturdy girl was the daughter of his brother Frank! It did not seem so very long ago that he had been "little Frank," his mother's spoiled darling. He had always seemed so very much younger than he, Michael, was; but now he lay there a haggard, wasted, aged-looking man, drawing near to death. His feet were on the brink of the dark river now. A change had set in during the night. Michael needed not to be told that his brother had but a few hours to live.
"I would not mind if it were not for Kate," the dying man murmured, turning towards his daughter with love and yearning in his glance. "I don't like to leave her alone in the world."
"She shall not be alone," said Michael, "there shall always be a home for her with me."
"Do you hear that, Kate?" the sick man asked with brightening eyes. "Your uncle says you shall have a home with him."
But the girl's look did not brighten.
"I don't care what becomes of me if you leave me, father," she said almost sullenly; then added, with passionate emotion as she bent over him, "If only you would get better, we might be so happy yet."