Mr. Delancey's funeral was scarcely over, before Guly received a message, stating that his friend the dwarf, was very ill, and desired to see him. The ragged boy, who brought the message, offered to act as guide to the cripple's hovel, remarking, that Richard said Monsieur would give him a dime for so doing. The money was readily bestowed, and in a few minutes Guly stood by the bedside of his wretched friend. Everything about the place indicated poverty, destitution, and filth, and the dwarf lay curled up, in the last stages of cholera, beneath the few rags which served him for a covering. It was evident no physician had been called, and it was now too late for one to do any good.

"Hih, hih, Monsieur," squeaked the poor old man; "come, at last, eh? Look a long time for you; very cold, Monsieur, very."

Guly took the cramped and chilling hands in his, and strove to warm them there.

"Hih, hih, Monsieur; poor little dwarf's time's come at last. Can't talk much, Monsieur; but got very much to say."

"Don't exert yourself much, Richard."

"Only one little. I must improve my time. Ugh! Monsieur; that cramp was very dreadful!"

A moment of silence ensued, broken only by the rattling respiration of the expiring dwarf.

"Underneath this bed, Monsieur, and underneath the broad plank in the floor—when I am gone, Monsieur, look, and you will find one strong box. It holds a little money—only a little—which I have got for little odd jobs and begging. After I am under the ground, that is yours. You are the only one ever really kind to poor Richard, and now that he's going away for ever, he wants you to remember him kindly."

"I could do it without this, Richard, always."

"No matter, Monsieur; dat is yours. Ugh! Monsieur, 'tis so cold. Don't forget—under the broad plank. Think I'll be a straight man in the other world, Monsieur?"

"Yes, Richard."

"Think you will know and love me there?"

"I hope so, Richard."

"So do I; in my heart, I do. Ugh! ugh! how cold. Give me your blessing, Monsieur."

"God bless you, Richard."

"Ugh, Monsieur, I am going. Good-bye. There is a time when life ceases to be sweet. Hih, hih!"

The poor cripple threw himself over towards the wall; and, with a shivering moan, died.

Guly gave the remains of his friend a decent funeral, and afterwards proceeded to find the strong-box, which his last request had been for him to seek. He found it in the designated place—strong-box indeed, and very heavy. On lifting the lid, the following words, scrawled on a bit of paper, in the dwarf's own hand, met his eye:—

"For Gulian Pratt—the only man who ever gave me money without seeming to begrudge it."

Just beneath was written:—

"Love ye one another."

Upon counting the contents of the box, Guly found himself the possessor of forty thousand dollars, the miserly savings of his crippled friend. Verily, "Cast thy bread upon the waters, and after many days it shall be returned to thee."

He had enough to wed Blanche now! With a bounding heart, the boy hurried to her side, to tell her all. He did so, in the presence of Mrs. Belmont.

"It required no fortune on your part," said the lady, kindly, "to have made your suit prosper with Blanche. To have known she loved you would have been sufficient, for to see her the bride of one whom I know to be so noble and good, is the highest boon I could ask for her. You are both, however, too young as yet to wed; but if, in two years' time, you find your love unchanged, you then shall have my sanction and my blessing."

Two years! dear reader, they pass quickly with young hearts, and they were soon flown. In the softened shadow of the old cathedral windows—at the altar, where once before they had stood with Della and Bernard—Blanche and Guly took their places, side by side, with no one to divide them now or ever, in after life. There had come but little change upon them since we saw them last, save that Guly's hair had more of the brown and less of the golden about it, and his face grown even more noble in its lofty expression. As the ceremony was ended, they turned to leave the church, but a stranger, tall and dark, stood in their path.

There was a moment's doubtful pause, then the brothers were clasped in each other's arms!

Those who had filled the building, to note the marriage ceremony, filed slowly out; and the wedding-party still stood in the dim and shadowy aisles, forgetful of all about them in this new joy—the delight of this unexpected meeting—and the hurried explanations which, even here, Arthur was induced to give. He told of long and lonely months in distant lands, of weary hours and heavy days, of fierce struggles with his rebellious spirit; of battles with his stubborn pride, and resistance to the force of evil habits. He told, too, with his handsome lip quivering with emotion, how the wild struggle ceased at last, and "the peace of God, which passeth all understanding," came to his troubled breast.

"And," continued he, "with my love and trust in 'Him who doeth all things well,' once more restored to my rebel heart, I found myself possessed of renewed energy, and an indomitable spirit of perseverance, which seemed to conquer all difficulties. I made many friends, and acquired much wealth, and then started for my native land. I reached it,—a crowd about these doors drew me hither, and you know the rest. The old times at No. — Chartres-street hang over my manhood only as a finger of warning, and I have learned that they alone can tread a prosperous path in this life, who follow God's Guide-board, which is the Bible, and trust to His finger to point it out to them."

The joyous party left at once for the shores of the Hudson. There Arthur re-purchased the old homestead for his mother, and remained "a single man," the comfort and blessing of her old age. And every summer sees Blanche and Guly there, while "Uncle Arthur" looks out upon the lawn, watching the bright figures flitting among the trees, and smiles to see the shadows falling by them, as in the olden time.

THE END.