"Years ago，"resumed the youth，"my father，who was arich man，made a trip to Sicily and，although I did not know this until recently，was seized by brigands and imprisoned in the hidden valley we have just left.There he fell in love with a beautiful girl who was the daughter of the female brigand known as the Duchess of Alcanta，and who assisted him to escape and then married him.It was a pretty romance at the time，but when my father had taken his bride home to New York and became immersed in the details of his business，his love grew cold and he began to neglect his wife cruelly.He became a railway president and amassedb a great fortune，but was not so successful a husband as he was a financier.The result was that the Sicilian girl，after some years of unhappiness and suffering，deserted him and returned to her own country，leaving her child，then three years old，behind her.To be frank with you，it was said at the time that my mother's mind had become unbalanced，or she wouldnot have abandoned me to the care of a loveless father，but I prefer to think that she had come to hate her husband so bitterly that she could have no love for his child or else she feared that her terrible mother would kill me if I came into her power.Her flight mattered little to my father，except that it made him more stern and tyrannical toward me.He saw mevery seldom and con?ded my education to servants.So I grew up practically unloved and uncared for，and when the proper time arrived I was sent to college.My father now gave me an ample allowance，and at the close of my college career called me into his office and ordered me to enter the employ of the railway company.I objected to this.I did not like the business and had other plans for my future.But he was stubborn and dictatorial，and when I continued unsubmissive he threatened to cast me off entirely and leave his fortune to charity，since he had no other near relatives.He must have thought better of this decision afterward，for he gave me a year to decide whether or not I would obey him.At the end of that time，hedeclared，I would become either a paupera or his heir，at myoption.
"It was during this year that I formed the acquaintance of your niece，Miss Merrick，and grew to love her devotedly.Louise returned my affection，but her mother，learning of my quarrel with my father，refused to sanctionb our engagement until I was acknowledged his heir.I was forbidden her house，but naturally we met elsewhere，and when I knew she was going to Europe with you，sir，who had never seen me，we hit upona what we thought was a happy and innocent plan to avoid the long separation.I decided to go to Europe also，and without you or your other nieces suspecting，my identity，attach myself to your party and enjoy the society of Louise while she remained abroad.So I followed you on the next shipand met you at Sorrento，where I introduced myself as CountFerralti—a name we had agreed I should assume before we parted in America.
"The rest of my story you know.My father was killed in an accident on his own railroad，and I received the news while we were prisoners of the brigand，whom I discovered to be my uncle，but who had no mercy upon me because of the relationship.To—night，on my return here，I found a letter from my father's attorney，forwarded fromb my bankers in Paris.Through my father's sudden death I have inherited all his wealth，as he had no time to alter his will.Therefore Mrs.Merrick's objection to me is now removed，and Louise has never cared whether I had a penny or not."He halted，as if not knowing what more to say，and the little group of listeners remained quiet because it seemed that no remark from them was necessary.Young Weldon，however，was ill at ease，and after hitching nervously in his chair he addressed Uncle John in these words：
"Sir，you are the young lady's guardian for the present，as she is in your charge.I therefore ask your consent to our formal engagement.""Not any，"said Uncle John，decidedly."I'll sanctionno engagement of any children on this trip.You are wrong in supposing I am Louise's guardian—I'm just her chum and uncle.It's like cradle—snatching to want to marry a girl of sixteen，and you ought to be ashamed of yourself，for you can't be much more than twenty—one yourself.While Louise is in my care I won't have any entanglements of any sort，so you'll have to wait till you get home and settle the business with her mother.""Very wise and proper，sir，"said Mr.Watson，noddinggravely.
Louise's cheeks were ?aming.
"Do you intend to drive Arthur away，Uncle？"she asked."Why should I，my dear ？Except that you've both takenme for a blind old idiot and tried to deceive me.Let the boy stay with us，if he wants to，but he'll have to cut out all love—making and double—dealinga from this time on—or I'll take you home in double—quick time."The young man seemed to resent the indictment.
"The deception seemed necessary at the time，sir，"he said，"and you must not forget the old adageb that 'all's fairin love and wara.'But I beg that you will forgive us both and overlook our fault，if fault it was.Hereafter it is our desire to be perfectly frank with you in all things."That was a good way to disarm Uncle John's anger，andthe result was immediately apparent.
"Very good，"said the old gentleman；"if you are proper and obedient children I've no objection to your being together.I rather like you，Arthur Weldon，and most of your failings are due to the foolishness of youth.But you've got to acquire dignity now，for you have suddenly become a man of consequence in the world.Don't think you've got to marry every girl that attracts you by her pretty face.This devotion to Louise may be 'puppy—love，'after all，and—""Oh，Uncle！"came a chorus of protest.
"What，you rascals！Are you encouraging this desperate fol—de—rol？""You are too severe，Uncle John，"said Patsy，smiling."The trouble with you is that you've never been in love yourself.""Never been in love！"He beamed upon the three girls withdevotion written all over his round，jolly face.
"Then you're jealous，"said Kenneth."Give the poor kids a fair show，Uncle John.""All right，I will.Arthur，my lad，join our happy family as one of my kidlets，and love us all—but no one in particular.Eh？Until we get home again，you know.We've started out tohave the time of our lives，and we're getting it in chunks—eh，girls？""We certainly are，Uncle John！"Another chorus."Well，what do you say，Arthur Weldon？""Perhaps you are right，sir，"answered the young man."And，anyway，I am deeply grateful for your kindness.I fear I must return home in a couple of weeks，to look after business matters；but while I remain with you I shall try to conduct myself as you wish.""That sounds proper.Is it satisfactory to you，Louise？""Yes，Uncle.""Then we've settled Cupid—for a time，anyway.And now，my dears，I think we have all had enough of Taormina.Where shall we go next？"
