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"Oh!" she exclaimed, throwing herself on his bed in an agony of tears, no one can or ever will be like you, or love

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me as you do, grandpapa."

"Hush, my love; I wish to explain some circumstances to you; listen to me. You know that when your mother-my dear daughter-my only child—was taken from us, I entreated your father to give you to me; and you have been my treasure all the years of your life. But you do not know that, having given my daughter a tolerable fortune at her marriage, I reserved the disposition of my landed property in my own power; and that I have settled on you, without reference to your father, the whole of my estates. Now then, Evelyn, you are probably on the point of inheriting a large property, and of becoming what I think you had never expected-an heiress! Yes; I see your surprise; but let me finish."

Evelyn could not control her feelings; and for a few moments Sir Connor was silent, while tears and incoherent expressions broke from her.

"Command yourself, my Evelyn, and listen to the little I have to say. When your father consented to your living with me, and being my child, I thought indeed that he would have been much with you; but we have seen little of each other since. Being displeased-weakly I confess-at his second marriage, I for a long time refused to see him; and I resolved in my own mind that you should never reside with him. I therefore made my will, providing, in the strongest terms, that, if you became my heir before you were of age, you should reside on your estate-in your own castle, independent of his control, and amenable to your guardians only, who, as the trustees of your property, will regulate your expenses as they judge best."

Not attending to what Sir Connor said of her expenses, she thought only of her father at that moment, and, looking earnestly in Sir Connor's face, she said, kneeling by his side,

"But my father!-Oh! grandpapa, will not he feel very sorry not to have the care of his daughter? If I must lose my own dear grandpapa, no one I am sure will care for me so much as my father."

"Your father knows you so little-and-and-perhaps I

have been wrong-but," added he with a trembling voice, "I had hoped to take you to Ireland myself, introduce you to my tenantry, and give you an opportunity of seeing more of your father and his family. When he comes I will explain all to him."

"Pray, pray, grandpapa, give all to him! Why should I be richer than my father?"

"No, dear child, I cannot change my will now; I am not able. Yet-yet-I am sensible a dying man ought not to retain resentment-nor do I indeed-but I can do nothing today; to-morrow perhaps I may alter your guardians, but not to-day; I am tired." He sank back on the pillow; after a considerable time he continued, "I disliked the choice he made, and could not reconcile myself to the thoughts of a stepmother to my Evelyn. You shall live in your own castle; but it will be-yes, it will be better, perhaps, that he should -but no matter, I am unable to say more now-except and he tried to raise himself a little as he spoke-" except only this, probably my last injunction to you-Evelyn O'Brien -as you will be, for on becoming heiress of my property you are bound to take my name. My last injunction is, to preserve the dignity and unsullied honour of that name and family, to reside chiefly on your estate, and to be kind to your tenantry, for your fond old grandfather's sake!"

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For some minutes Evelyn, holding his hand, wept upon it, unmindful of any idea but the painful one that her grandfather spoke of the time when she should lose him—that kind parent who had been from her infancy the object of her filial tenderness and gratitude; and the consequent agitation might have been injurious to Sir Connor had not Dr. Z- — arrived soon after the conversation; when, having insisted on Evelyn's retiring till more composed, he administered a cordial to his patient and again prescribed perfect quiet.

As it was necessary to write to Mr. Desmond by that day's post, Evelyn began a letter expressive of her great astonishment at finding herself appointed the heiress of her grandfather, and of her regret that her father was not to be his heir. She tore the letter, and began another—and another; but, successively destroying each when she had written a few

lines, she determined at last simply to inform her father of Sir Connor's illness and strong desire to see him, but to make no allusion to an arrangement which her grandfather might yet be persuaded to alter.

Evelyn had no intimate knowledge of her father, for, though he had come to England from time to time to see her, his visits had been always short, and the coldness of Sir Connor produced such a constraint in her father's manners, that she felt an awe of him that was inconsistent with the affection and intimate confidential intercourse which should exist between parent and child.

Evelyn's hopes of her grandfather's recovery gradually returned as he appeared to gain ground; her spirits rose as suddenly as they had been depressed, and, notwithstanding the warnings of the physician, she felt sure that her prayers would be granted, that her beloved grandfather would recover, and that her father would yet be restored to his favour.

Several times, when he appeared not to suffer much, she ventured to remind him that he had spoken of altering the arrangements in his will in regard to her guardians; but he still postponed making the exertion, and at last, disappointed at not seeing Mr. Desmond, he declared that he would make no change till his arrival.

Unfortunately Mr. Desmond had gone to the Continent shortly before Sir Connor's illness; and his letters, though forwarded, did not immediately reach him, as his stay was short at the places he visited; but, vexed at the delay, and with the querulousness which sometimes attends on suffering, Sir Connor could not be persuaded that Mr. Desmond had left home before Evelyn's letter could have been received, and, declaring that he would abide by his first resolve and leave his little Evelyn free from all interference on the part of either her father or stepmother, he forbade her mentioning the subject again. She was obliged to submit; she had never disputed his wishes when thus decidedly expressed, nor indeed ever had reason to do so, for his constant wish was to indulge her; it was therefore difficult to remonstrate now, and the more so as she did not fully comprehend his plans with regard to herself.

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SIR CONNOR O'BRIEN appeared to be steadily recovering; and Evelyn, who was in daily expectation of her father, flattered herself that there would yet be time for an explanation which would reinstate him in her grandfather's esteem, and produce such a change in Sir Connor's intentions as she had vainly endeavoured to urge. Sometimes her sanguine mind ventured to look forward to his complete recovery; but Dr. Z- still assured her it was impossible, and endeavoured to warn her that the silver cord might suddenly break -even when she least expected.

The sad moment came but too soon. Some weeks had passed since Sir Connor's alarming illness, when, one fine afternoon, having, with Evelyn's assistance, taken a short walk in the open air, he complained of fatigue, and retired immediately to bed.

Evelyn placed the pillows as he directed, and then knelt beside the bed, holding his hand.

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"Thank you, my child," said he, looking at her; you always settle me so nicely: you are always kind, always, my dear Evelyn. May God bless you, my poor, dear child, now and for ever!"

As he said these words he pressed her hand, which he had held, and, laying his head gently on the pillow, seemed to sleep. Soon afterwards he sighed, his hand relaxed its hold, and the eyes which, but a few moments before, had looked so tenderly on Evelyn, were closed for ever. She was not for some time aware that he was no more: looking at him at intervals, she thought for some time that he was in a tranquil sleep; and though Jane, her maid and assistant in attending on Sir Connor, endeavoured to convince her of the sad truth,

she still imagined that he breathed, and it was long before she relinquished all hope. Kissing his cold lips, she remained by his bedside, watching for some movement; weeping at intervals as she thought over all his kindness to her but when at last she could no longer resist the conviction that he was gone, her grief was violent; and Jane, retiring that Evelyn might indulge her feelings without restraint, for some time desisted from any attempt to induce her to leave the room.

Jane was a most faithful creature; truly Irish in the warmth of her feelings, and in her attachment to Evelyn. Formerly her nurse, now her maid and an excellent servant, her judicious conduct on all occasions had given her great influence over Evelyn, as well as with her grandfather.

At length Jane returned to the room: she knelt down beside the bed on which Sir Connor lay; and first trying to soothe Evelyn, who was nearly exhausted by her violent emotions, put up a short prayer, in which Evelyn joined; and, after some pause, endeavoured to persuade her to retire to rest, using the tenderest epithets to induce her to yield to her urgency.

"Dear Miss Evelyn! my heart's blood !* I beseech you do not stay here: leave the chamber of sadness, and let me perform the necessary duties now. Retire, dear, and compose yourself, for, alas! you can do no more for him that you were always doing for-my honoured master-may the Lord give peace to his soul!"

"Oh! Jane, Jane !-My grandfather!-What shall I do without my dear grandpapa? Now I have lost him, I have no one now-no dear grandpapa to take care of."

"You were always ready and active, night and day, to comfort him and attend him; but now nothing more can be done, darling Miss Evelyn. We are, indeed, left alone and helpless to mourn for him that was so kind to us.'

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"Not helpless, I hope, Jane," said Evelyn, trying to exert herself. "God will surely support us; and—my father will come soon, I hope."

Here a fresh burst of tears at the recollection of the kind parent she had lost, and the little knowledge that she had of * A well-known Irish expression of affection.

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