ADRIFT IN NEW YORK.



Chapter I.
The Missing Heir.


"Uncle, you are not looking well to-night."

"I'm not well, Florence. I sometimes doubt if I shall ever be any
better."

"Surely, uncle, you cannot mean----"

"Yes, my child, I have reason to believe that I am nearing the end."

"I cannot bear to hear you speak so, uncle," said Florence Linden, in
irrepressible agitation. "You are not an old man. You are but
fifty-four."

"True, Florence, but it is not years only that make a man old. Two
great sorrows have embittered my life. First, the death of my dearly
beloved wife, and next, the loss of my boy, Harvey."

"It is long since I have heard you refer to my cousin's loss. I