He must leave the house as he had come to it, not only without revealing himself to his mother and brother, but also without his child. It would be the bitterest moment of his life, but he must meet it and go on.
"You are quite right, my dear--quite right," he said. "A child's love is like a flower in the window--it cannot grow without somebody to water it. Your uncle has done everything for you, and he is entitled to all your affection. It wouldn't be fair if your father could come back, after all these years, and take you away from him. Cling to him, Elin, love him, and comfort him, and may God bless you for your loyalty and trust!"
He had tried to speak bravely, but his voice broke and he stopped. After a moment he said calmly:
"Can you give me pen and ink and a sheet of writing-paper?"
She brought them instantly, and he sat at the table and wrote a line or two. Then he took out his pocket-book, opened it, and put the paper inside of it, and closed it up again.
"Elin, will you do me a great favor?"
"Oh yes, sir," said the girl.
"It is late, and I've had a long day, and I may not be up when the auction begins in the morning--will you take this pocket-book and give it to the Sheriff the moment he arrives?"
"With pleasure, sir."
"You will not open it or show it to anybody else, but you will carry it to your room at once and put it under your pillow, and to-morrow morning you will be up early and give it to the Sheriff before he begins the sale--will you do this for me, my dear?"