“If he is the good, true man you say, uncle, and he will love me, and wish me to be his wife, I will pray God to make me a true, dutiful companion to him for life.”
“But—but you don’t speak out, my child,” said the old man suspiciously.
“It is because I can’t, uncle, dear. The words sees to choke me. It is such a promise to make.”
“But you never cared for any one else?”
“Oh no, uncle dear. I never hardly thought of such a thing.”
“No; always shut up here in the dingy old Mynns with me.”
“Where I have been very happy, uncle.”
“And Heaven knows I tried to make you so, my child. And you will be happy when I’m gone—with George. For he is all I say—a true, noble fellow. But—but,” he cried, peering into the girl’s eyes from under his shaggy brows, “suppose he is ugly?”
“Well, uncle dear,” said the girl with a little laugh, “what does that matter?”
“Ay, what does that matter? But he can’t be ugly, Gertie. Such a handsome little fellow as he was when I saw him last. And he’ll be a rich man, Gertie. He shall have The Mynns and everything, for the injury and wrong I did his father—my poor, poor boy!”