After Luce had swept from the room, Drake remained for a minute or two thinking the thoughts that a man must think under such circumstances; then he went slowly down to the drawing-room.

The countess was watching and waiting for him, and she looked up at his grave countenance anxiously as he came toward her.

"It is all right," he said, in his quiet way; "she is going at once."

His composure, the Angleford impassiveness which always came to their aid in moments of danger and difficulty, impressed her; she drew a breath of relief, and signed to the butler, who was hovering about awaiting her signal. "Dinner is served, my lady," he announced solemnly; and Drake gave the duchess his arm, and the company went into the dining room in pairs "like the animals into Noah's Ark," as Dick whispered to Miss Angel, who, to his great delight, he was taking in.

It was a large party, and a brilliant one. The great room in the glory of its new adornment was worthy of the house and its guests. If the truth must be told, Nell was at first a little nervous, though it was not her first experience, as we know, of an aristocratic dinner party. She was seated on the left of Drake, and on pretense of moving one of her glasses, he succeeded in touching her hand, and, as he did so, he looked at her as a man looks who sees joy before him and an abiding happiness; then he turned and talked to the duchess, for he knew that Nell would like to be left alone for a few minutes.

It was impossible for any party, however large and aristocratic, over which the countess presided, to be dull, and very soon they were all talking, and some of them laughing, for there were two young persons present, at any rate, who were by no means overawed by the splendor of the appointments or the rank of the guests. Dick would have found it possible to be merry at a Quakers' meeting, and Miss Angel, though she tried to preserve a demure, not to say repressive, mood, very soon yielded to Dick's light-hearted influence; and not only she, but those near them, were kept by him in ripples of laughter.

It was just what Drake wanted, and he looked down the table toward Dick with approval and gratitude.

"Dick hasn't changed a bit—thank Heaven!" he said to Nell.

"Your brother's the most charming boy I've met for a very long time," remarked the duchess. "Of course, he will come with you and the rest to me on the ninth. I am so glad to see Mr. Falconer here, and I hope he will be well enough to join us!"

Nell glanced at Falconer with a sisterly regard, and Drake said:

"We'll bring him, if we have to pack him in cotton wool!"

The dinner was, inevitably, a lengthy one; but it was never for a moment dull, and the countess almost forgot Lady Luce as she realized the success of her party. She felt as a captain of a vessel feels when he has left behind him the perilous rocks on which he had nearly struck. Drake, too, almost forgot the ordeal through which he had just passed. How could he do otherwise when his darling was within reach of his hand, under his roof, at his table? The ladies remained some time after the appearance of the dessert, but the countess rose at last, and led the way to the drawing-room. There, of course, Nell was made much of. Some of the younger women drew their chairs near her, and showed as plainly as they could—and how plainly women can show things when they like!—that they were eager to welcome her into the county's social circle; and it required no effort on their part, for Nell's charm, which Drake had found so potent, was irresistible. There was some playing and singing, and the countess wanted Nell to do one or the other; but she shook her head.

"Mr. Falconer will want me to play his accompaniments presently," she said. Not even in this full tide of her happiness did she forget him.

Meanwhile, the men were having a very pleasant time in the dining room. Drake, like all the Anglefords, was a capital host. Anglemere was famous for its claret and its port, as we know, and Dick and the other young men waxed merry; and the duke voiced the general sentiment when, leaning back in his chair and sipping his claret, he said:

"The gods might be envious of you, Angleford. If I were asked to spot a happy man, I should pitch upon you. I congratulate you upon your engagement. She's one of the prettiest and most charming girls I've ever met. That sounds rather banal, but I mean it. I hope you'll let us see a great deal of her, for Mary"—Mary was the duchess—"has, I can see, taken a great fancy to her. And I'm very glad to hear that you intend to make this your home; at least, so I hear from Styles, who appears to be in your confidence."

And he laughed.

And Drake laughed.

"Oh, yes, Styles and I are old friends," he said. "We mean to live here a great deal. I shall keep up the Home farm; they've offered me the mastership of the hounds, and I think I shall take it. Nell's a capital horsewoman. In fact, we shall lead a country life most of the time, and see as much as we can of our people."

"You're right," said the duke emphatically. "It's the best of all lives. If we all lived on our estates and looked after our people, we should hear very little of socialism, and such like troubles. It's the absenteeism which is answerable for most of the mischief."

They discussed county affairs, "horses, hounds, and the land," for some minutes; then Drake, who was anxious to go to Nell, asked the men if they would have any more wine, and, receiving a negative, rose, and made for the drawing-room.

Miss Angel was singing; Dick of course, was turning over her music. There was a little hushed buzz of conversation which is not too loud to permit the song to penetrate, and which indicates that things are going well. Drake went to Nell and leaned over the tall back of her chair without a word. When the song was finished, the countess went up to Falconer and asked him to play. A footman brought the precious violin, and Nell went to the piano and struck up the piece which they had chosen. Conversation ceased, and every one prepared to listen with eager anticipation.

Falconer may have played as well in his life, but he certainly never played better. One could have heard a pin drop during the softer notes of the exquisite music, so intense and almost breathless was the silence of the rapt audience. When the last note had died away, the countess went up to him.

"It is useless trying to thank you, Mr. Falconer," she said, "but if you will play again——"

"Certainly," said Falconer. He turned to Nell. "What shall I play next?" he asked, as if the choice must naturally rest with her.

She turned over the music and set up a Chopin, and he had placed the violin in position, when the door opened, and Lady Luce swept slowly in. She was superbly dressed, her neck and arms and hair were all a-glitter with diamonds. Though she was rather pale, her face was perfectly serene, and she smiled sweetly as she crossed the room.

Her entrance caused a surprise; the countess happened to be standing with her back to the door, and did not see her come in; but she felt the sudden silence and turned to ascertain the cause. For a moment she was rooted to the spot, and the color left her face. It says much for her aplomb that she did not cry out. Her confusion lasted only for a moment, then she went toward Lady Luce with outstretched hand.

"I am so sorry to be so late," said Luce, in her sweetest tones, "but my maid, who is a perfect tyrant, refused to dress me until I had rested——"

"Your dinner?" almost gasped the countess.

"I had some sent up to my room," said Lady Luce sweetly.

She looked round. Drake stood by the piano, his face sternly set. Why had she remained? What was she going to do? He glanced at Nell, and saw that she had gone white, and that her eyes were fixed on Lady Luce. What should he do?

Instinctively, he went to meet Luce, who was advancing with a placid smile, and the ease of a woman who is at peace with all the world, and sure of her welcome.

"How do you do, Lord Angleford?" she said, as if this were their first meeting for some time. "I am so glad that I was able to get here to-night, though I wish that I could have arrived earlier. But I am interrupting the music! Please don't let me!"

She moved away from him with perfect grace, and, greeting one and another, went and seated herself in a chair beside the duchess—and opposite Nell at the piano. There was a little buzz of conversation round her, then she herself raised her fan as a sign for silence, and Falconer began to play again.

It was well for Nell that she knew every note of the nocturne by heart, for the page of music swam before her eyes, and she could not see a note. She felt Lady Luce's gaze, rather than saw it, and her heart throbbed painfully for a while; but presently the influence of the music stole over her and helped her—if only Falconer could have known it!—and she said to herself: "What can it matter to me if she is here? I know that Drake loves me, and me alone; that she is nothing to him and I am everything. It is she who should feel confused and embarrassed, not I. And yet how calm, how serene she is! Can she have forgotten that night on the terrace? Can she have forgotten all that has happened? Yes, it is she whose heart should be beating as mine is now."

When the nocturne came to an end, and the applause which greeted it broke out, Lady Luce, still clapping her hands, rose and went toward Drake.

"Will you please introduce me to Miss Lorton?" she said. "I am all anxiety to know her."

She smiled at him so placidly that even Drake, who knew her better than did any other man, was completely deceived.

"She means to forget the past," he said to himself. "She is behaving better than I had any reason to expect."

He drew a breath of relief, and his stern face relaxed somewhat as he nodded slightly and went toward Nell, who had risen from the piano and stood near Falconer. She looked at Drake and Lady Luce as calmly as she could, and Drake made the introduction in as ordinary a tone as he could manage. Lady Luce held out her hand with a sweet smile.

"I am so glad to meet you, Miss Lorton," she said. "I have heard so much about you; and I dare say you have heard something about me, for Lord Angleford and I are very old friends. How charmingly you played that difficult accompaniment! Shall we go and sit down somewhere together and have a chat?"

What could Nell say or do? Both she and Drake were helpless. Nell stood with downcast eyes, the color coming and going in her face, and Drake looked from one to the other, half relieved, half in doubt.

"Let us go and sit on that ottoman," said Lady Luce, indicating one in the center of a group of ladies.

Nell, as she followed, glanced at Drake as if she were asking, "Must I go?" He made a slight gesture in the affirmative, returning her glance with one of tender love and trust.

The countess stood at a little distance, watching them, though apparently absorbed in conversation, and no one would have guessed the condition of her mind as she saw the two women seated side by side. Presently she went up to Drake.

"What does it mean?" she asked. "Why has she not gone? Why is she so—so friendly with Nell?"

Drake shrugged his shoulders with a kind of smiling despair.

"I can't tell you," he replied. "I think she is going to behave sensibly. At any rate, there is no need for anxiety. I have told Nell everything. She will trust me."

"Yes; but I wish she had gone," said the countess, in a low voice.

Drake smiled grimly.

"So do I. But she hasn't."

"She is too serene and contented," murmured the countess.

Drake shrugged his shoulders again.

"I know," he said significantly. "But what does it matter? She can do no harm. Nell knows everything."

"I like the way you say that," said the countess. "But don't leave her."

He nodded as if he understood, and gradually made his way toward the group among which Luce and Nell were sitting. As he approached, Lady Luce looked up with a smile.

"I have been telling Miss Lorton that if there is one thing I adore upon earth, it is a romantic engagement, and that I quite envy her, and you, too, Lord Angleford! A glamour of romance will surround you for the rest of your lives. As I have often said to Archie, life without sentiment would not be worth having. By the way, Miss Lorton, you know Sir Archie Walbrooke?"

Nell had scarcely been listening, for she had been wondering whether she could now rise and leave Lady Luce; but at the name of Sir Archie Walbrooke, she turned with a sudden start, and the color rose to her face. Lady Luce looked at her sweetly; then, as if she had suddenly remembered something, exclaimed, in a low voice:

"Oh, I beg your pardon! I quite forgot. How stupid of me!" Then she laughed softly and looked from Nell to Drake. "But of course you've told Lord Angleford? It is always the best way."

The color slowly left Nell's face; a look of pain, of doubt, even of dread, came into her eyes. Drake glanced from one woman to the other.

"What is it Nell must have told me, Lady Luce?" he asked easily.

Lady Luce hesitated, seemed as if in doubt for a moment, and smiled in an embarrassed fashion.

"Have you told him?" she asked Nell, in a low, but perfectly audible voice.

Nell rose, then sank down again. She saw in an instant the trap which Lady Luce had set for her; and it seemed to her a trap from which she could not escape. It was evident that Lady Luce had become informed of the scene that had taken place between Sir Archie, Lord Wolfer, and Nell in the library at Wolfer House, and that Lady Luce intended to denounce her in the drawing-room before Drake and the large party gathered together in her honor.

For one single instant there rose in her heart a keen regret that she had not told Drake; but it was only for an instant; for Nell's nature was a noble one, and she knew that at no time and under no circumstances whatever could she have sacrificed her friend, even to save her life's happiness—and Drake's.

That chilly morning in the dim library she had taken her friend's folly and sin upon her own shoulders, scarcely counting, scarcely seeing the cost, certainly not foreseeing this terrible price which she would have to pay for it. And now—now that the terrible moment had come when Drake—she cared little for any other—would hear her accused of that which a pure woman counts the worst of crimes, she would not be able to rise, and, with uplifted head, exclaim: "I am innocent!"

She felt crushed, overwhelmed, but she could not remain silent; she had to speak; the eyes of those who were near were fixed upon her waitingly.

"I have not told him," she said at last, in a low but clear voice.

Lady Luce bit her lip softly, as if very much confused.

"I am so sorry I spoke!" she said, in an apologetic whisper. "It was very foolish of me—I am always blurting out awkward things—it is the impulsive Celtic temperament! Pray forgive me, Miss Lorton, and try and forget my stupid blunder."

There was an intense silence. Nell looked straight before her, as one looks who hears the knell of the bell which signals the hour of her execution. Drake stood with his hands clasped behind him, his face perfectly calm, his eyes resting on Nell with infinite love and trust. The others glanced from one to the other with doubtful and half-suspicious looks. It seemed as if no one could start a conversation; the air was heavy with suspense and suspicion. The countess was quick and clever. She saw that for Nell's sake the matter must not be allowed to rest where it was; she knew that Lady Luce would have effected her purpose and cast a shadow of scandal over Nell's future life if not another word was spoken. Convinced that Nell was innocent of even the slightest indiscretion, she felt that it would be wiser to force Lady Luce's hand.

So she came forward with a smile of tolerant contempt on her pretty, shrewd face, and said slowly, and with her musical drawl:

"Oh, but, Lady Luce, we cannot let you off so easily. What is this interesting story in which Miss Lorton and Sir Archie Walbrooke are concerned?"

Lady Luce rose with well-feigned embarrassment.

"Pardon me, Lady Angleford," she said. "I have blundered and have asked forgiveness; I have not another word to say."

She was crossing the room in front of Drake, and he saw her lip curl with a faint sneer. He laid his hand upon her arm gently but firmly.

"We will hear the story, if you please, Lady Luce," he said.

She bit her lip, as if she were driven into a corner, and did not know what to do.

"Not here, at any rate!" she said, in a low voice, and looking round at the silent group.

Some of them rose and moved away; but Drake held up his hand.

"Oh, do not lose an amusing story!" he said, with a smile eloquent of contempt. "Now, Lady Luce, if you please."

She looked from him to Nell.

"What am I to do?" she asked, as if in great distress. "Miss Lorton, you see my predicament; please come to my aid, and help me to escape. Tell Lord Angleford that you do not wish me to say any more."

Still looking straight before her, Nell responded, almost inaudibly:

"Speak! Yes—tell them!"

Lady Luce still seemed reluctant; at last she said, with an embarrassed laugh:

"After all, it may amount to nothing, and you'll be very much disappointed. Indeed, it is very likely not true."

Her reluctance was not altogether feigned, for it needed even her audacity and assurance to make such an accusation as she was about to bring against the future Countess of Angleford, and under her future roof; but she braced herself to a supreme effort, and, though she was really as white as Nell, she looked round boldly, as if confident of the truth of the thing she was going to say.

"Everybody knows what Sir Archie is," she began. "He's the worst flirt and the most dangerous man in England. Everybody has heard stories of his delinquencies; some of them are true, but many of them, I dare say, are false, and I've not the least doubt that Miss Lorton will tell us that the story that she was about to elope with him from Wolfer House one morning, but that she was stopped by Lord Wolfer, is an absurd fable. The story goes that she did not know, until Lord Wolfer told her at the very moment that she and Sir Archie were leaving the house, that Sir Archie was a married man. Now that's the whole affair, and I really think Miss Lorton will be grateful to me for giving her an opportunity of rising in true dramatic fashion and exclaiming: 'It is not true!'"

She nodded at Nell and laughed softly.

There were many who echoed her laugh, for, indeed, the story did sound like an absurd fable. All eyes were turned on Nell, and all waited for her to bring about with a denial the satisfactory dÉnouement. Drake did not laugh, for his heart was burning with fury against the audacity, the shameless insolence, of Lady Luce; but he smiled in a grim fashion as his eyes still rested on Nell's face.

A moment passed. Why did she not rise? Why did she not, at any rate, speak? Four words would be enough: "It is not true!"

But she remained motionless and silent. A kind of consternation began to creep over those who were watching, Drake went up to her and laid his hand on her shoulder.

"Pray relieve Lady Luce's anxiety, Nell, and tell her that she has amused us with a canard too ridiculous to be anything but false," he said tenderly.

She looked up at him, her brows drawn, her eyes pitiful in their agony of appeal, her lips quivering.

"It is true!" she said, in a voice which, though low, was perfectly audible.

There was an intense silence. No one moved; every eye was fixed on her in breathless excitement. They asked themselves if it were possible they had heard aright. Drake's hand pressed more heavily on Nell's shoulder; she could hear his breath coming heavily, could feel him shake. A faint cry escaped Lady Angleford's parted lips.

"Nell!" she cried.

Nell rose and looked at her with the same agony of appeal in her eyes, but with her face firmly set, as if she were buoyed up by an inflexible resolution.

"What Lady Luce has said is true," she said. "I will go——"

Drake was by her side in an instant. He took her cold hand and drew it within his arm.

"No!" he said. "You will not go——"

He looked at Lady Luce, and there was no need to finish the sentence.

She smiled, and fanned herself slowly.

"Of course, Miss Lorton can explain it all," she said. "I am very sorry to have been the cause, the innocent cause, of such an unpleasant scene. But really you forced me to speak; and we all know that though Miss Lorton has admitted her—what shall I call it?—little escapade, there must be some satisfactory explanation. No one will believe for a moment that she really intended to elope with Sir Archie."

While she had been speaking, some of the guests had edged toward the door. At such moments the kindest thing one can do is to remove oneself as quickly as possible. When a sudden death happens in a ballroom, the dancing ceases, the music stops, the revelers vanish. Something worse than death had happened in this drawing-room. The happiness of more than one life had been blasted as by a stroke of lightning.

There was a general movement toward the door. A group of old friends—county neighbors, real friends of Drake and the countess—gathered round the little group. Falconer and Dick pushed their way through them none too ceremoniously.

"I'll take my sister home, Lord Angleford," said Dick hotly; while Falconer took her hand, his face white, his eyes flashing.

Nell would have drawn away from Drake and turned to them; but he put his arm round her waist and held her by sheer force.

"I beg that no one will go," he said; and his voice, though not loud, rang like a bell. Everybody stopped. "I think every one has heard Lady Lucille's accusation against my future wife," he said. "For reasons which concern herself and me only, my future wife"—he laid an emphasis on the words—"has seen fit not to deny this accusation. I am quite content that it should be so. If we have any friends here let——"

Before he could finish his appeal, the door opened, and Lord and Lady Wolfer entered the room. They were in traveling dress, and Lady Wolfer looked pale and in trouble, while Wolfer's face was grave and stern.

"If any friend, whether it be man or woman, deems an explanation due to them, I will ask Miss Lorton if she can give it to them," continued Drake. "If she should not think fit to do so——"

Lady Wolfer, until now unnoticed except by a very few, came through the circle which at once had formed round the principal actors in this social tragedy. She went straight up to Nell, and took her hand and drew her into her embrace, as if to shelter and succor her. With a faint cry, Nell's head fell on Lady Wolfer's bosom. Lady Wolfer looked round, not defiantly, but with the air of one facing death bravely.

"I will explain," she said. "It was not she who was going to elope with Sir Archie Walbrooke. It was I!"

"No, no; you must not!" panted Nell.

The living circle drew closer, and listened and stared in breathless silence.

"It was I!" said Lady Wolfer.

"You!" exclaimed Lady Luce. "Then Burden——"

"Burden lied," said Lady Wolfer. "I want to tell every one; it is due to this saint, this dear girl, who sacrificed herself to me. I only heard this morning from my husband that he had found a note which Sir Archie had sent me, asking me to leave England with him. He placed this note on a pedestal in my drawing-room. Both my husband and Nell saw it, not knowing that the other had seen it. It never reached me; but this dear girl kept the appointment which Sir Archie had made for the library the next morning. She wanted to save me. I know, almost as if I had been there, how she pleaded with him, how she strove for my honor. While they were there my husband came upon them. The letter was not addressed to me, and he leaned to the conclusion that it was intended for Nell. She permitted him to make the hideous mistake, and, to save me, she left the house with her reputation ruined—in his eyes, at least. Until this morning he has never breathed a word of this to a soul. I am confident that Sir Archie Walbrooke, who went away full of remorse and penitence, has also kept silent. It was reserved for a woman to strike the blow aimed at the honor and happiness of an innocent and helpless girl—a girl so noble that she is ready to lay down her life's happiness and honor rather than betray the friend she loves. Judge between these two, between us three, if you will."

It was not a moment for cheering, but sudden exclamations burst from the men, most of the women were in tears, and Nell was sobbing as she lay on her friend's bosom.

Lady Luce alone remained smiling. Her face was white, her breath came in quick, labored gasps.

"What a charming romance!" she exclaimed, with a forced sneer. "So completely satisfactory!"

At the sound of her voice, the countess' spirit rose in true Anglo-Saxon fashion. She checked her sobs, wiped her eyes with a morsel of lace she called a handkerchief, and, sweeping in a stately manner to the door, said, with the extreme of patrician hauteur:

"A carriage for Lady Lucille Turfleigh, please!"

Lady Luce shrugged her shoulders, turned, and slowly moved toward the door; and, as she went, the crowd made way for her, and left her a clear passage, as if she had suddenly become infectious.

Nell did not see her go, did not hear the mingled expressions of indignation and congratulation which buzzed round her.

All she heard was Drake's "Nell! Nell! My dearest! my own!" as he put his arms round her and drew her head to his breast.

Those persons who are fortunate enough to receive invitations to the summer and shooting parties, which Lord and Lady Angleford give at Anglemere, have very good reason to congratulate themselves; but those who are still more fortunate to receive a letter from Nell, asking them to spend a fortnight at the picturesque and "cottagy" house which Drake has built at a certain out-of-the-way spot in Devonshire called Shorne Mills, go about pluming themselves as if they had drawn one of the prizes in life's lottery. For only very intimate and dear friends are asked to Shorne Mills.

The house is not large. With the exception of the grooms, there are no menservants; there is no state, and very little formality; life there is mostly spent in the open air, in that delicious mixture of sea and moorland air in which everyday worries and anxieties do not seem able to exist.

At The Cottage no one finds time hanging heavily on his or her hands; no one is bored. It is a small Liberty Hall. There are horses to ride; there are tramps to be taken across the heather-scented hills; there are yachting and fishing in the bay, and there is always light-hearted laughter round and about the house—especially when her ladyship's brother, Mr. Dick Lorton, is present; and he and the famous musician, Mr. Falconer, always come down together, and remain while the family occupy The Cottage. There, too, the dowager countess is always a regular visitor; indeed, Nell and she are very seldom apart, for, if the countess could tear herself away from Nell, she certainly could not leave the baby son and heir, who is as often in her arms as in his mother's.

Here, too, come, every year, the Wolfers. In fact, to sum it up, the party is composed of Nell's and Drake's dearest and tried friends, and they one and all have grown to love Shorne Mills almost as keenly as Nell and Drake themselves do. Nell is proud of Anglemere, and the other places which her husband has inherited, but there is a certain corner in her heart which is reserved for the little fishing place in which she first saw, and learned to love, "Drake Vernon."

Watch them as they go down the steep and narrow way to the pier. It is a July evening; the sun is still bright, but the shadows are casting a purple tint on the hills beyond the moor; a faint breeze ripples the opaline bay; the fishing boats are gliding in like "painted ships on a painted ocean"; the tinkle of the cow bells mingles with the shrill cry of the curlew and the guillemot. The Seagull lies at anchor in the bay ready to sail at a moment's notice. But Drake does not signal for the dinghy as Nell and he reach the pier, for, though they are going for a sail, it is not in the stately yacht.

By the slip lies an old herring boat, with Annie Laurie painted on its stern, and Brownie has got the sail up and stands waiting with a smile to help his beloved "Miss Nell" into the old boat. Nell lays her hand upon his shoulder as of old, and steps in and takes the tiller; Drake makes taut the sheet, and the old boat glides away from the slip and sails out into the open.

Drake looks up at the wind with a sailor's eye, and glances at Nell. He does not speak, but she understands, and she steers the Annie Laurie for the little piece of smooth beach which leads to the cave under the cliff. It is to this point they nearly always make; for was it not here that Drake Vernon told Nell Lorton of his love, and drew the confession of hers from her lips? To this place they always come alone, for it is sacred.

As, on this afternoon, they approach the spot, Drake utters an exclamation of surprise.

"Why, Nell, there's another boat there!" he says.

"Not really, Drake?" she says, with a little disappointment in her voice.

For the moments they spend in this spot are sweet and precious to her.

"Yes, there is," he says; "and, by George; there are two persons sitting on the bowlder—our bowlder!"

Nell looks with keen eyes; then she blushes, and laughs softly.

"Drake, it's Dick and Lettie Angel!" she says, in a whisper, as if they could hear her.

But she need not be afraid; the two young people who are seated on the spot sacred to Nell and Drake's love, have no ears nor eyes for any but themselves. The girl's face is downcast and blushing, and Dick's is upturned to hers. He has got hold of her hand; he is pleading as—well, as a certain Drake Vernon once pleaded to a certain Nell Lorton.

Nell and Drake exchange glances full of tenderness, full of sympathy.

"Ourselves over again, dearest!" he says, in a low and loving voice. "Put her round; we won't disturb them. God bless them, and send them happiness like unto ours!"

And "Amen!" whispers Nell, her eyes full of tears.