"Caleb, I cannot bear this," exclaimed the girl, turning suddenly very pale. "Do you see how you are trying me? Is there something I ought to know, and that you are trying to prepare me to hear, something about Mr. Calcott and Emmie?"
"Nay, nay; not about Emmie."
"About myself, then?"
"Ay," patting her hand tremulously, "about yourself, Miss Queenie, dear. You have woke up this morning a rich woman. Mr. Calcott has left you all his money."
"Oh, Caleb! no,"—Queenie's voice rose almost to a cry—"not to me, surely, surely! You must mean Emmie! Emmie is his niece, not I; I am nothing to him."
"Ah! but you ministered to him like a daughter; you were not turned from him by his hard words."
"But I was cruel, and left him alone in his sufferings; I never came back even to wish him good-bye. I have been thinking of myself, not him, all this time. Caleb, I can never take his money, it belongs to Emmie; I can never defraud Emmie," and Queenie leaned her head on her old friend's shoulder and burst into a perfect passion of tears.
Caleb stroked her hair gently. "Hush, my pretty; there is something like five thousand a year, all in safe investments. But the lawyer will be round here presently, and tell you all about that. He has left me an annuity of three hundred a-year in return for fifty-five years of faithful services. Think of that, Miss Queenie! You might have knocked me down with a feather when I heard that."
"Yes; but Emmie," she sobbed. "I cannot defraud Emmie."
"Bless you, Miss Queenie, dear, you are not defrauding the poor innocent. If the money had not come to you it would have gone to some hospital. Have you forgotten his vow, that his sister and her child should never inherit a farthing of his money? No doubt he repents these rash words of his, and he means you to take care of Emmie, and give her the benefit of his wealth."