“I beg pardon—your father’s roof—in about a fortnight.”
“I am sorry to hear it, sir; and please clear your mind of the idea that you have ceased to be welcome. Your presence and that of Miss Fregelius will lessen, not increase, my trouble. I should be lonely in this great place with no company but that of my own thoughts.”
“I am glad to hear you say so. Whether you feel it or not you are kind, very kind.”
And so for the while they parted. When she came in that afternoon, Mr. Fregelius told Stella the news; but, as it happened, she did not see Morris until she met him at dinner time.
“You have heard?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” she answered; “and I am sorry, so sorry. I do not know what more to say.”
“There is nothing to be said,” answered Morris; “my poor uncle had lived out his life—he was sixty-eight, you know, and there is an end.”
“Were you fond of him? Forgive me for asking, but people are not always fond—really fond—of those who happen to be their relations.”
“Yes, I was very fond of him. He was a good man, though simple and self-made; very kind to everybody; especially to myself.”
“Then do not grieve for him, his pains are over, and some day you will meet him again, will you not?”