"Helen," he began gravely, "I shall speak no word to—to your friend. Not a word. You must tell him."
"Tell him what?" I asked, who had no need to ask.
"I reckon you know," my uncle answered quietly. "He can stay here no longer, of course."
"No," I assented, my voice choking.
"But he needn't leave to-night—tell him he can stay the night. But to-morrow," he concluded significantly. I nodded.
"Will you go to him—some day, I mean?" he asked after a long pause.
"Yes," I faltered, with downcast head; "yes, some day."
"And leave me, Helen?"
"Yes."
"And your mother—and Aunt Agnes?"