The Guinea Stamp | Page 4

uninteresting face, which, however, was
redeemed from vacancy by the gleam and glitter of his remarkably keen
and piercing black eyes. His hair was grey, and a straggling beard, grey
also, adorned his heavy chin. Gladys was conscious of a strong sense of
repulsion as she looked at him, but she tried not to show it, and feebly
smiled as she extended her hand.
'Are you Uncle Abel, papa's brother?' she asked--a perfectly
unnecessary question, of course, but it fell from her involuntarily, the
contrast was so great; almost she could have called him an impostor on
the spot.
'Yes,' said Uncle Abel in a harsh undertone; 'and you, I suppose, are my
niece?'
'Yes. Can I take your overcoat or your umbrella?' asked Gladys; 'and
would you like some tea? I can ask Miss Peck to get it. I have not had
any myself--now I come to think of it.'
'I'll take off my coat. Yes, you can take it away, but don't order tea yet.
We had better talk first--talking always makes one hungry; then we can
have tea, and we won't require any supper. These are the economics
poor people have to study. I guess you are no stranger to them?'
Gladys again faintly smiled. She was not in the least surprised. Poverty
had long been her companion, she expected nothing but to have it for
her companion still. She took her uncle's hat and overcoat, hung them
in the little hall, and returned to the room, closing the door.
'Perhaps you are cold, uncle?' she said, and, grasping the poker, was
about to stir up the fire, when he hastily took it from her, with an
expression of positive pain on his face.

'Don't; it is quite warm. We can't afford to be extravagant; and I
daresay,' he added, with a backward jerk of his thumb towards the door,
'like the rest of her tribe, she'll know how to charge. Sit down there, and
let us talk.'
Gladys sat down, feeling a trifle hurt and abashed. They had always
been very poor, she and her father, but they had never obtruded it on
their own notice, but had tried cheerfully always to accept what they
had with a thankful heart. But Love dwelt with them always, and she
can make divine her humblest fare.
Mr. Abel Graham fumbled in the inner pocket of his very shabby coat,
and at last brought out a square envelope, from which he took the
curate's letter.
'I have come,' he said quite slowly, 'in answer to this. I suppose you
knew it had been written?'
'If it is Mr. Courtney's letter, yes,' answered Gladys, unconsciously
adopting her uncle's business-like tone and manner. 'Of course he told
me he had written.'
'And you expected me to come, of course?'
'I don't think I thought about it much,' Gladys answered, with frankness.
'It is very good of you to come so soon.'
'I came because it was my duty. Not many people do their duty in this
world, but though I'm a very poor man, I won't shirk it--no, I won't
shirk it.' He rubbed his hands together slowly, and nodded across the
hearth to his niece. Instead of being pleased, as she ought to have been,
with this announcement, she gave a quick little shiver. 'My brother
John--your father, I mean--and I have not met for a good number of
years, not since we had the misfortune to disagree about a trifle,'
continued the old man, keeping his eyes fixed on the girl's face till she
found herself made nervous by them. 'Time has proved that I was right,
quite right; but my brother John was always, if you will excuse me
saying it, rather pigheaded, and'--

'Don't let us speak about him if you do not feel kindly to him!' cried the
girl, her great eyes flashing, her slender frame trembling with
indignation. 'I will not listen, I will go away and leave you, Uncle Abel,
if you speak harshly of papa.'
'So'--Abel Graham slapped his knee as he uttered this meditative
monosyllable, and continued to regard his niece with keener scrutiny, if
that were possible, than before. 'It is John's temper--a very firebrand.
My dear, you are very young, and you should not be above taking
advice. Let me advise you to control that fiery passion. Temper doesn't
pay--it is one of the things which nothing can ever make pay in this
world. Well, will you be so kind as to give me a little insight into the
state of your affairs? A poor enough state they appear to be in, if this
parson writes truly--only parsons are accustomed to draw the long bow,
for the purpose of ferreting money out of people's pockets. Well, my
dear, have you nothing to