Even when he smiled the expression of his face did not soften. Yet he
could moderate his voice so as to express tenderness and sympathy.

He was the son of an elder sister of Mr. Linden, while Florence was
the daughter of a younger brother.

Both were orphans, and both formed a part of Mr. Linden's household,
and owed everything to his bounty.

Curtis was supposed to be in some business downtown; but he received a
liberal allowance from his uncle, and often drew upon him for outside
assistance.

As he stood with his uncle's hand in his, he was necessarily brought
near Florence, who instinctively drew a little away, with a slight
shudder indicating repugnance.

Slight as it was, Curtis detected it, and his face darkened.

John Linden looked from one to the other. "Yes," he said, "I must not
forget that I have a nephew and a niece. You are both dear to me, but
no one can take the place of the boy I have lost."

"But it is so long ago, uncle," said Curtis. "It must be fourteen
years."

"It is fourteen years."

"And the boy is long since dead!"