He had been ill, the servant said, and though he was not now in bed, he had not come down-stairs.

So she ran up to his room, and finding him seated in an old arm-chair by the fire-side, knelt down at his feet, as she took his hand and asked him as to his health.
"What has Mrs.Winterfield done for you in her will ?" These were the first words he spoke to her.
"Never mind about wills now, papa.

I want you to tell me of yourself." "Nonsense, Clara.

Answer my question." "Oh, papa, I wish you would not think so much about money for me." "Not think about it?
Why am I not to think about it?
What else have I got to think of?
Tell me at once, Clara, what she has done.

You ought to have written to me directly the will was made known." There was no help for her, and the terrible word must be spoken.