"But, uncle----"
"No objection, my dear one. You have never made any to my will yet, and you must not begin now. Understand, child: I am sending you away for the best; the best for you and for me; and you must be guided by me implicitly, as you ever have been."
Ella sighed--and would not let him see her tears.
The yellow sunlight faded and vanished from the gloomy room, the old portraits on the walls shrank farther back into the twilight of their frames and were lost to view, the log on the hearth crackled and glowed more redly bright as darkness crept on apace, and still those two sat hand in hand, speaking a few words now and then, but mostly silent. At length the moment of departure came, the carriage was at the door, and Mrs. Carlyon entered, ready for travelling.
The Squire grasped the back of his chair with one hand; he was trembling in every limb. Mrs. Carlyon bade him goodbye quietly and without fuss. He kissed her, and held her hand.
"Gertrude," he said, "into your hands I commit my one earthly treasure. I charge you with the care of it. Never forget!"
Ella clung to him, and laid her head upon his breast. His rugged features worked convulsively. He lifted her face tenderly between his hands and kissed her several times.
"Let me stay with you, uncle. Why drive me away?" she said imploringly.
For a moment there came into his eyes a gleam of agony terrible to see: it was a look which Ella never forgot.
"No--no--it must not be: I am doing for the best," he repeated, in a hoarse whisper; "I tell it you. Farewell, my sweetest and best--farewell. Go now--go now," he whispered, as he sank into his chair and pointed to the door.