CHAPTER VI.
"Farewell; God knows when we shall meet again." SHAKSPEARE.
Laura said no more about breaking the will, but her manner toward Lester and Elsie was so cold and repellant that they were not sorry that she shut herself up in her own room during the greater part of each day while they and she remained at Crag Cottage.
Had they consulted only their own inclination, they would have taken their own departure immediately after seeing Eric laid in his grave; but Lester's duties as executor and guardian made it necessary for them to stay on for some weeks.
The cottage was a part of Evelyn's portion of the estate, but Laura was given the right to make it her home so long as she remained Eric's widow.
Laura knew this, having read the will, but as that instrument made no mention of Eric's desire that his daughter should reside with her guardian, she was not aware of that fact; and feeling well nigh certain that it would rouse her anger and opposition, Lester dreaded making the disclosure.
But while perplexing himself with the question how best to approach her on the subject, he found among his brother's papers, a sealed letter addressed to her.
Calling Evelyn, he put it into her hand, bidding her carry it to her mother.
Half an hour later the little girl was again at his side, asking in tearful tones, "Uncle Lester, must mamma and I be separated ?" He was in the library, seated before a table, and seemed very busy over a pile of papers laid thereon; but pushing back his chair, he threw his arm round her waist and drew her to his knee.
"No, my dear child, not necessarily," he said, softly caressing her hair and cheek; "your mother will be made welcome at Fairview if she sees fit to go with us." "But she wants to stay here and keep me with her; and it's my home, you know, the dear home where everything reminds me of--papa, Will you let me stay ?" "Do you really wish it, Evelyn?
do you not desire to carry out the dying wishes of the father you loved so dearly ?" "Yes, uncle," she said, the tears stealing down her cheeks, "but--perhaps he wouldn't care now, and mamma is so sorely distressed at the thought of separation; and--and it hurts me too; for she is my mother, and I have no father now--or brother, or sister." "You must let me be a father to you, my poor, dear child," he said in moved tones, and drawing her closer; "I will do my utmost to fill his place to you, and I hope you will come to me always with your troubles and perplexities, feeling the same assurance of finding sympathy and help that you did in carrying them to him." "Oh, thank you!" she responded.

"I think you are a dear, kind uncle, and very much like papa; you remind me of him very often in your looks, and words and ways." "I am glad to hear you say so," he answered.

"I had a great admiration for that dear brother, and for his sake as well as her own, I am very fond of his little daughter.

And now about this question.

I shall not compel your obedience to your father's wishes--at least not for the present--but shall leave the decision to your own heart and conscience.
Take a day or two to think over the matter, and then let me hear your decision.
"In the meantime, if you can persuade your mamma to go with us to Fairview, that will make it all smooth and easy for you." "Thank you, dear uncle," she said, as he released her and turned to his work again, "I will go now and try what I can do to induce mamma to accept your kind invitation.