Adrift in New York

Chapter I.
The Missing Heir.

“Uncle, you are not looking wellto-night.”

“I’m not well, Florence. I sometimes doubt if I shall everbe any better.”

“Surely, uncle, you cannot mean——”

“Yes, my child, I have reason to believe that I am nearing theend.”

“I cannot bear to hear you speak so, uncle,” said FlorenceLinden, in irrepressible agitation. “You are not an old man. You arebut fifty-four.”

“True, Florence, but it is not years only that make a man old. Twogreat sorrows have embittered my life. First, the death of my dearlybeloved wife, and next, the loss of my boy, Harvey.”

“It is long since I have heard you refer to my cousin’sloss. I thought you had become reconciled—no, I do not meanthat,—I thought your regret might be less poignant.”

“I have not permitted myself to speak of it, but I have neverceased to think of it day and night.”

John Linden paused sadly, then resumed:

“If he had died, I might, as you say, have become reconciled; buthe was abducted at the age of four by a revengeful servant whom I haddischarged from my employment. Heaven knows whether he is living or dead,but it is impressed upon my mind that he still lives, it may be in misery,it may be as a criminal, while I, his unhappy father, live on in luxurywhich I cannot enjoy, with no one to care for me——”

Florence Linden sank impulsively on her knees beside her uncle’schair.

“Don’t say that, uncle,” she pleaded. “You knowthat I love you, Uncle John.”

“And I, too, uncle.”

There was a shade of jealousy in the voice of Curtis Waring as heentered the library through the open door, and approaching his uncle,pressed his hand.

He was a tall, dark-complexioned man, of perhaps thirty-five, withshifty, black eyes and thin lips, shaded by a dark mustache. It was not aface to trust.

Even when he smiled the expression of his face did not soften. Yet hecould moderate his voice so as to express tenderness and sympathy.

He was the son of an elder sister of Mr. Linden, while Florence was thedaughter of a younger brother.

Both were orphans, and both formed a part of Mr. Linden’shousehold, and owed everything to his bounty.

Curtis was supposed to be in some business downtown; but he received aliberal allowance from his uncle, and often drew upon him for outsideassistance.

As he stood with his uncle’s hand in his, he was necessarilybrought near Florence, who instinctively drew a little away, with a slightshudder indicating repugnance.

Slight as it was, Curtis detected it, and his face darkened.

John Linden looked from one to the other. “Yes,” he said,“I must not forget that I have a nephew and a niece. You are bothdear to me, but no one can take the place of the boy I have lost.”

“But it is so long ag

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