Before five o'clock the three Depews—father, mother, and daughter—were in the New York lawyer's office, and punctually at the hour Gerald entered.

The lawyer, who had guessed something of what had happened, judiciously left them together for a few minutes.

Mrs. Depew carried out her threat; she walked straight over to Gerald, and gave him what she called a "smack."

"You, Gerald," she said, "I'm as real pleased to see you as I am to see the snow go away in winter. I believed in you, my lad, from the first, and if I've got an old fool for a husband, remember that he is only an old fool, and there's no scrap of real bad in him—that he's as good a husband, and as good a father as ever stepped in shoes."

"I want to say right here, Gerald," interposed the farmer, "that I'm as real sorry as any man can be for what I——"

"There's no need for you to say anything to me just now, farmer," interrupted Gerald stiffly; "you said enough last time we met to last me for many a day."

"I know, lad, I know, lad—don't I know it? You're not going to play heavy on a man old enough to be your father?"

"You were heavy enough on me—young enough to be your son! I have made up my mind"—he sat down with an air of determination as he spoke "to talk to you; to talk to you freely, when the whole of your nineteen thousand pounds is found.

"I've got hold on the balance that's missing, and it only wants the lawyer to put things in trim for it to be recovered. When it is—when the whole nineteen thousand pounds is in your possession—I shall want you to eat the word 'thief' you applied to me."

"Ain't I just eating it, Gerald?" said the old man humbly. "Is there a man here in N'York with as much humble pie in his mouth as I've got? I take back all I said——"

"Maybe, but I——"

And then Gerald paused.

Two soft, warm hands passed over the back of his chair, passed his face, came round his neck; warm lips touched his ear, and a voice he loved better than any other whispered:

"Gerald!—he is my father."

That did it. Gerald jumped up and took the farmer by the hand.

All his anger had evaporated under the touch of those soft, warm lips.

"Well, farmer, let bygones be bygones. We'll forget all that's been said that ought not to have been said. Here comes the lawyer. Let's get along with the declaration."

"I have it all ready," said the lawyer. "It is a joint declaration." He read it, and then said, "Come along with me to the justice's office; and it can be declared right off."

The justice before whom they presented themselves glanced at the document he was signing.

"Coincidence," he said, "or is it the same? Loide's—an English lawyer—death was reported at the police station this afternoon."

Death! Gerald started. Had he then killed the man he had struggled with? He said:

"You mean Richard Loide." And he mentioned the hotel.

"That's where the accident occurred. Lift accident—there is the certificate just brought in."

"Will you loan this to me?" inquired the lawyer, after perusing it; "I think it will save some trouble."

"Yes," answered the justice; "if you return it within two hours. It has to go to the coroner by then."

This was promised. Outside the office the lawyer hailed a hackman.

"Get in," he said to his companions; "we will drive straight to the money changer's."

They did. The hackman waited. They entered the office.

"You remember me, Mr. Wolff?" queried the lawyer.

It was evident the banker did—from his obsequious manner in receiving his visitor. Doubtless the lawyer knew something of him.

"You have a thousand pound English note in your possession belonging to my client here."

"I hope you not tink, Meestair Denison, dat I intends——"

"Oh, I know you only want to give it up to the right owner. He's here—this gentleman. Mr. Loide left it with you—Loide's dead. Here's the police certificate of his death."

"Det, eh?"

"He was acting in England as a lawyer for this client of mine, and paid over eighteen out of nineteen thousand pounds. The other thousand pound note was missing. This declaration sworn to before Justice Colonel George F. Vanderwood to-day proves the ownership."

"So."

It was evident that the mention of the justice had impressed the banker.

"You will give up the note, I suppose, without any trouble?"

"Sairtenly, Meestair Denison, if you say so. I suppose I haf some eendemnity, eh?"

"I have prepared one. Here it is. Mr. Depew, will you sign it?"

Mr. Depew did so, and in exchange got the missing thousand pound note.

"Now, back to my office," said the lawyer, "where the ladies are waiting."

They returned there. The farmer flourished his note, and then threw it into his wife's lap.

"All's well, old girl," he said; "got him. It's all settled."

"And now you have only to settle with me," said the lawyer, with a smile, "and the whole thing will be ended."

"Not much, it isn't," interposed Mrs. Depew. "There's a marriage settlement for you to draw up. My old man is settling nine thousand pounds on our daughter, Tessie, who is to be married to Mr. Gerald Danvers here."

"No need for a settlement, madam. Give her the money now before they are married, and it's hers as firmly as any deed could make it so."

"Is that so? Then, George, you'd better give it right away—here."

"Plenty of time, old girl, when we get back——"

"Get back! There's no putting back from here with a couple of single people around. Those two is going to be made one before we step out of N'York again."

"Mother!"

"That's me, Tess—you hear me say it.

"You really mean that, Mrs. Depew," inquired Gerald, with sparkling eyes.

"Young man," she answered, "you've evidently got to learn that when your mother-in-law that is to be says a thing, she means it."

"Mrs. Depew, you're the finest mother-in-law the world holds! You're a brick! a regular brick!"

"But, mother," said the blushing Tessie, "I haven't got anything ready——"

"Lawd sakes! Listen to that now! And here are we in N'York with a bank full of money, too! Can't you buy what you want?"

"Of course she can," interrupted Gerald eagerly. "Mrs. Depew, you're the most sensible woman I've ever met."

"None of your soft soap now!"

"It's a fact. It's a capital idea. Couldn't be better. Don't you think so, farmer?"

Of course the farmer thought so. He valued his domestic peace, and assured it by acquiescence in most of his wife's ideas.

He even went so far as to say that he had thought a similar idea out as they drove along.

Tessie made another—must it be confessed, very faint-hearted?—protest.

"Why should you be in such a hurry, mother?"

"Because I don't believe in long engagements—that's why. Because this boy was promised his reward—that's why. Because you know perfectly well that you are just as anxious to get married as he is to marry you—that's why. Because I'm getting an old woman, and the sooner you get married, the longer I shall have on earth to play with my grandchildren—that's why."

"Mother!"

Of course it was settled that way. When they left New York shortly after, Gerald and Tessie were man and wife.

Mrs. Depew usually contrived to get her own way. If, of that household it was true that the husband was the head, she was the neck—she was so capable of turning the head.

THE END