"And so goes out a bad life," said Mr. Wheatley, as we mounted our horses and rode away. "It has been compared to the end of a tallow-candle by somebody, I don't know who--in fact, I never can recollect who it is that has written anything. I can remember the thought; but I cannot recollect the words, nor trace 'back to it's cloud that lightning of the mind.' Well, it is strange to see how men misuse opportunities. This fellow, this Thornton here, set out in life with the very brightest prospects; friends, fortune, relations of commanding influence, talents, education--everything but conduct."

"And principle," I interposed.

"Ay, and principle," said Mr. Wheatley, musing very deeply. "I have come to that conclusion myself, Sir Richard. At one time, I doubted it; for often, when I acted honestly--by accident, of course by accident--ha! ha! ha!--I was diabolically cheated. I was not successful. Principle did nothing for me; I saw the rogue triumphant, the honest man vanquished. I perceived that in worldly wisdom I had acted like a child, and I said to myself, 'Conduct is fate.' But since has come the question, What is conduct? and I am inclined to believe that, in the end, here, even here, honesty is the best policy, principle is the surest guide, and, like the mariner who steers his bark by the compass and the star, though we may look ahead for the breakers or the reefs, the permanent guides to our course are aloft." Sublime truth was clad in his homely language, and we were both silent for several minutes.

"I wonder what the deuce is in this box?" said Mr. Wheatley, holding up the little casket he had received. "I should like very much to open it and see; but I think, after what we have just been talking about, it wouldn't do. I should feel my fingers shake, and you would turn away your head and blush. Yet we could find many a plausible reason. We might wish to save Miss Davenport some unnecessary shock--we might fear that the old man was playing some trick upon her--there might be a loaded pistol, with cunningly-contrived machinery, ready within to shoot the person who opens the box. In short, Sir Richard, was ever act committed, so base and mean, which could not find a pretext to justify it, good and valid in a court of law? Now that old man there is going to judgment, granting himself a poor, miserable sinner, and giving me this box, and thinking that the confession and the reparation are quite sufficient to close the great account and strike a fair balance in the everlasting day-book." We rode on till within a quarter of a mile of the sheriff's house, without meeting any one; but there we saw Mr. Henry Thornton and the worthy magistrate himself riding towards us. "I was coming after you, Sir Richard," said the former, as he rode up. "Mr. Hubbard is at my house waiting for you, and we are sadly afraid, do what we can, the escheat will pass. Robert Thornton has so hedged his father in with one legal technicality and another, that we almost fear good aunt Bab's will will be declared null and void; for the real and personal estate are so mixed up in her devise to you, that it is hardly possible to separate them; and if the will is declared null, even those poor slaves will fall into the hands of others."

"They shall be free, notwithstanding," I answered.

"Stay, stay, all of you," said Mr. Wheatley. "I have got here upon my saddle-bow, Mr. Thornton, Pandora's box, out of which I hope all the miseries of human life have long ago escaped, leaving nothing but pleasant hope sleeping at the bottom."

"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Thornton, almost impatiently. "I do not understand."

"Simply," I said, "that Mr. William Thornton is dying--probably dead by this time. When he discovered how near he was to his end, some degree of remorse seemed to seize upon him, and he gave Mr. Wheatley that little case to deliver to our dear Bessy, with an intimation that it would set all right."

"Then we had better carry it to our dear Bessy at once," said Mr. Thornton with a gay smile. "From your sweet terms, Sir Richard, and from Bessy's radiant face when I saw her just now, I conclude you are a successful kidnapper, and I don't know whether to wish you joy or to cut your throat; for when you take Bessy Davenport away from amongst us, you deprive our little district of half its sunshine."

"It is but right and just, my good friend," I answered, "that the rest of the world should have some portion of the same rays; and, believe me, even were there not many bonds of kindness, friendship, and affection between my heart and many a heart here, the spot where I had met Bessy Davenport would always be dear to me, and I should visit it often to revive memories so deeply interesting."

"Pooh, pooh!" ejaculated the bluff sheriff. "When you get her across the Atlantic, you wont bring her back again in a hurry; but we can't help it; and, whatever may happen, foul fall the man who would impede Bessy's happiness for an hour." By this time we had nearly reached the sheriff's house, and it needed some hallooing, being about the middle of the day, to bring any one to take our horses. When, at length, we entered the house, neither of the ladies were to be seen; but the curiosity of the whole party was raised too high for any forbearance, and the sheriff went whistling and calling along the passages without any reverence for the mid-day sleep, so often taken by the ladies in Virginia. At length, his sister and Bessy joined us; the box was placed before the latter, and the circumstances in which it had been sent were explained.

"Will you give me a chair, Richard?" said Bessy, calmly. "I have too frequently found unpleasant things in Mr. Thornton's communications to open them without fear and agitation." She unclosed the case, when she was seated, with a hand which trembled a good deal. At the top were a number of jewels and trinkets wrapped up in silver paper, some of them of considerable value; but none of us cared to regard them much, for there were some papers to be seen below. The first of these that Bessy took out was the only one of any real importance, and it was conceived in the following words:--

"Codicil.--Whereas, my will, already declared, signed, sealed and published, on the ---- day of ---- in the year of grace, 1829, was drawn up by persons in whom I have not full and entire confidence; and, whereas, I have been lately admonished and advised, that certain clauses and provisions of that will are contrary to the laws of this state of Virginia, and may void, nullify, and render of no effect, the whole of the said will or certain parts thereof; now this is to declare, and I do hereby declare accordingly, that it is my intention that the said will shall have effect in all those clauses, provisions, bequests, demises, appointments, and all and every other particular whatsoever, which shall be consonant to, lawful and permitted by, the laws, customs, and statutes of this state of Virginia, and in no other case whatsoever; and that should it appear after my decease that any provision or bequest of my said will, dated as aforesaid, is contrary to the said laws, statutes, or customs, or any of them; then I desire and intend that any benefit, property, right, or inheritance, which might accrue, be taken or possessed by the person or persons to whom the same was, by the said will, devised, had the said provisions or bequests been lawful, shall be absolutely vested in and conveyed by my executors, named in the said will, to my dear niece, Elizabeth Davenport, to have and to hold, to her, and to her heirs, executors, administrators, and assigns, in as pure, free, and perfect right as if no other bequest or devise whatever had been made in the said will, to which these presents are a codicil; and, especially, should it be found by my executors in the said will appointed, that in regard of real estate, no alien can, within the limits of the State of Virginia, hold lands in fee simple, either by demise or of inheritance, and that, consequently, my dear nephew, Richard Conway, commonly called Sir Richard Conway, Baronet, is incapable of holding the real estate bequeathed to him by me in my said will, and that the same is liable to be escheated to the State, or else claimed by certain persons on pretence of kin to whom I do not wish the said real estate to descend, then I leave and bequeath the said real estate, previously devised to Richard Conway, to my aforesaid niece, Elizabeth Davenport, and revoke, recal, annul, and disallow the bequest previously made to the said Richard Conway."

The codicil was duly signed and witnessed, and Mr. Henry Thornton waved his hand in the air, exclaiming:--

"That settles the whole affair. There can no longer be either lawsuits or roguery, unless you two young people choose to go to law with each other, which I do not think particularly likely."

"Richard, will you go to law with me?" asked Bessy, smiling.

"Decidedly, dearest," I answered, in a low tone. "I shall bring a suit before yourself, for yourself, and even press the court for a speedy decision." She coloured a little and said;--

"Hush! You must be good and patient--unless," she added, with a light laugh, "something of very great importance requires your presence in England imperatively."

"Business of the greatest importance calls me there," I answered, following her to the door, towards which she had been retreating; "no less, dear Bessy, than the best happiness life can bestow."

"Now, I could almost tell you to go and settle that important business and then return to seek me," answered Bessy. "But I will not coquet with you, dear Richard. You have long been the arbiter of my fate. You are so still, and I will go with you where and when you like. But you must forgive me if all this agitates me a good deal. For any young girl to commit her whole happiness to another, is no slight trial; but in my case both the confidence and the trial are still more, for I leave all other friends, the scenes of my youth, my very habits of thought, and my native land, to go with you afar. But I have no doubt, no hesitation, no fear. You are now all to me, and I am now yours altogether." A tear, crushed between the long dark lashes, fell like diamond sparks upon her cheek; but I found means to bruit away; and, before I left her, the day was named. Oh that I could have you, too, with me, my dear sister, when that day arrives, were it but to make this dear girl feel that in giving herself to me she only leaves old friends to find others to whom she will be as dear; and to assure her that in a new land, and a strange home, she will not be received as a stranger. Mary, my quiet spirit, you must not smile at your brother's enthusiasm, wherever it may appear in these pages; for I intend you to own that if I have been long in choosing, I have chosen well, and chosen one whom you can, from your heart, call sister.

WOODFALL AND KINDER, PRINTERS, LONG ACRE, LONDON.