"You must not tell untruths, uncle."

"I don't," said Anthony; only, too doggedly to instil conviction.

"I have always felt, uncle, that you love money too much. What is the
value of money, except to give comfort, and help you to be a blessing to
others in their trouble? Does not God lend it you for that purpose? It
is most true! And if you make a store of it, it will only be unhappiness
to yourself. Uncle, you love me.
I am in great trouble for money."

Anthony made a long arm over the projection of his coat, and clasped it
securely; sullenly refusing to answer. "Dear uncle; hear me out. I come
to you, because I know you are rich. I was on my way to your lodgings
when we met; we were thrown together. You have more money than you know
what to do with. I am a beggar to you for money. I have never asked
before; I never shall ask again. Now I pray for your help. My life, and
the life dearer to me than any other, depend on you. Will you help me,
Uncle Anthony? Yes!"

"No!" Anthony shouted.

"Yes! yes!"

"Yes, if I can. No, if I can't. And 'can't' it is. So, it's 'No.'"

Rhoda's bosom sank, but only as a wave in the sea-like energy of her
spirit.