On the day that Mr. Lawrence paid the reward of ten thousand dollars to the detective, Lancelot Darling was present.

He immediately wrote a check for fifteen thousand dollars and tendered it to Mr. Shelton, saying gracefully:

"Allow me also to testify some slight sense of my gratitude, although money alone can never pay the great debt we owe you!"

"Our hearty appreciation and faithful friendship shall unfailingly pay the interest, at least," added the banker cordially.

Mr. Shelton's fine features beamed with pride and joy. He felt a pardonable elation at the wonders his skill and patience had accomplished.

He felt within himself the proud consciousness that his indefatigable perseverance had nobly earned his success.

Within a few weeks he had the pleasure of seeing Doctor Pratt and Harold Colville sentenced to the penitentiary for a long term of years, and Doctor Heath also was duly punished for his wickedness.

The testimony of Lily Lawrence and Fanny Colville filled the thronged court-room with horror on the day of the trial.

Everyone felt that lynching would not be too bad for such villains; but the sentence of the court was duly carried out, and the wretches were incarcerated in the penitentiary.

Doctor Pratt served out his sentence faithfully. When it was ended he left the shores of America for a foreign land, not, as some may suppose, to repent of his sins, but solely to hide his dishonored head from the contempt of all who knew him, and begin again under new auspices a second career of vice and crime.

Harold Colville's patience could not uphold him, as it did his colleague, the doctor. Solitude and confinement fairly maddened him.

Within a few months after the trial he hung himself in his cell, and sent his wicked soul forth into the darkness of eternity.

Fanny Colville was thus left a widow, and on producing requisite evidence that she had been the dead man's wife, inherited his handsome property.

She took possession of his wealth, feeling herself honestly entitled to it, purchased a handsome house in the city, and brought her old mother from the country to live with her, while the friendly Mrs. Mason was duly installed as her housekeeper.

In the meantime Fanny had paid several visits to Lily Lawrence, and the two young creatures had exchanged numberless congratulations with each other on the happy termination of their mutual trials.

"I never should have recognized you, my dear," Lily said frankly at their first meeting, "if Mr. Shelton had not informed me who was coming. When I first saw you I could not believe that you were not an old woman. Now you have grown young and pretty."

Fanny laughed and blushed at the compliment, and it only made her more attractive. In truth, she deserved Lily's praise.

Her clear, dark complexion began to glow with health and strength. Her softly rounded cheeks had a soft tint glowing on them like the heart of a sea-shell.

She had beautiful eyes, large, dark and expressive, and her black hair, which Mrs. Mason had shingled close to her head, now clustered in short, silky rings about her brow, adding a charming piquancy to her pretty face.

Her dress, too, was always as perfectly elegant as wealth and taste could make it, so that many more beside Lily Lawrence considered the dark-eyed widow young and pretty.

Mr. Shelton was among the number of those who agreed with Lily.

The forlorn young creature whom he had rescued and cared for had begun to twine herself about his heart.

He was a bachelor, and forty years old, but his heart was not proof against Cupid's darts.

Now since Fanny Colville had come into his path of duty, pity and kindness had grown into love, strong, fervent, and abiding.

He strolled into her drawing-room one day a few months after her husband's death, and found her sitting cosily before the fire with a bit of fancy-work lying on her lap.

"I hope I do not disturb you," he said, noting her dreamy look. "You seemed to be thinking on some very absorbing subject when I entered."

"I was thinking of you, Mr. Shelton," returned the young widow, with a smile and a slight blush.

"Of me!" exclaimed the detective, observing the blush with a thrill of pleasure. "I hope your thoughts were agreeable ones."

"They could not be otherwise when I think of my kind friend and preserver," answered Fanny, giving him a gentle glance from her frank, dark eyes. "Oh, Mr. Shelton, when I think of myself as I was when you discovered me in that loathsome dungeon, starving and freezing in my wretched rags, and delivered me from my bonds—when I remember that and contrast it with my present happy lot, I feel that I can never repay the great debt of gratitude I owe you."

"I fear," he said, at length, "that you overestimate the value of the service I did you, Mrs. Colville. It is true, I suppose that I saved your life, but what then? Life to many is not as great a boon that they would thank one for saving it."

"Ah, but they are misanthropic," returned Fanny, brightly. "Life to me, Mr. Shelton, is a great boon. I love to live! I love to feel the warm blood rushing through my veins with the ardor of youth and hope. I love to feel my pulses bounding with life's fitful fever. Oh, Mr. Shelton, can I do nothing to show my gratitude for all you have done for me?"

The detective drew nearer and took her soft, warm hand impulsively in his own.

"Yes, dear Fanny," he said, his deep, manly voice trembling with emotion. "Give me the life I saved for my reward. Give me your own sweet self for the day-star of my future. Be my wife!"

Blushing and startled, Fanny looked up into his face, but her eyes drooped swiftly before the great tenderness in his.

The next moment she laid both hands in his and whispered, between April smiles and tears:

"Take me if I can make you happy. I ask no brighter fate."