Bertha had just arrived from her tour, having rushed home on the tidings of a quarrel between the doctors and the lady nurses of her pet hospital; and she had immediately dashed down to Northmoor to secure her cousin as one of the supporters. She sat by Lady Adela’s fire, very much disconcerted at hearing that he was not come home yet, though expected every day.

‘What should he have gone off to Canada for? He might have been contented to stay at home, after having lost all this time by his illness. Oh, yes, I know that sounds ungrateful, when it was all in the cause of my little Cea. I shall be thankful to him all my life, but all the same, he ought to be at home when he is wanted, and I wonder he liked to fly off just when he had got his dear little boy back again.’

‘He did not like it, but thought it his duty.’

‘Duty—what, to Herbert? Certainly the boy has come out very well in this matter, considering that the finding Mite was to his own detriment; but probably he has found his vocation as a colonist. Still Northmoor might have let him find that for himself.’

‘Do you know where the home he found is, Bertha?’

‘Somewhere about Lake Winnipeg, isn’t it?’

‘Yes; and the name is Northmoor.’

‘Named by Herbert, eh? Or didn’t John Tulse go out? Did he name the place in loyalty to us?’

‘Not John Tulse, but one who told Herbert that his happiest days were spent here.’

‘Adela, you mean something. Don’t tantalise me. Is it Fred Alder? And was he kind to the boy for old sake’s sake, because he bore the old name? Did he think he was your Mike?’

Bertha was leaning forward now, devouring Adela with her eyes.

‘He was much puzzled to understand who Herbert was, but he gave him great help. The man could hardly have been made to speak if he had not brought him to his bearings. Herbert has been living with him and his brother-in-law ever since, and is going to remain as a farming-pupil.’

‘Married of course to a nasal Yankee?’

‘No.’

There was a pause. Bertha drew herself back in her chair, Adela busied herself with the tea-cups. Presently came the question—

‘Did Northmoor know?’

‘Yes, he did.’

‘And was that the reason of his going out?’

‘Herbert was one motive, but I do not think he would have gone if there had not been another reason.’

‘You did not ask him?’ she said hotly.

‘Certainly not.’

‘I don’t want any one to interfere,’ said Bertha, in a suddenly changed mood, ‘especially not such a stick as that. He might have let it alone.’

‘And if you heard that Captain Alder was—’

‘A repentant prodigal, eh? A sober-minded, sponsible, easy-going, steady money-making Canadian,’ interrupted Bertha vehemently, ‘such as approved himself to his Lordship’s jog-trot mind. Well, what then?’

‘Oh, Birdie, perverse child as ever.’

‘And so you actually despatched my Lord to eat humble pie in my name. You might have waited to see what I thought of the process.’

Bertha jumped up, as if to go and take off her hat, but just at that moment some figures crossed the twilight window, and in another second Adela had sprung into the hall, meeting Mary and Frank, whom she beckoned into the dining-room.

Bertha had followed as far as the room door, when, in the porch, she beheld a tall large form, and bearded countenance. One moment more and those two were shut into the drawing-room.

Mary, Frank, and Adela stood together over the dining-room fire, all smiles and welcome.

‘Doesn’t he look well?’ was Mary’s cry, as she displayed her husband.

‘Better than ever. Nothing like bracing air. Oh! I am glad you brought him’ indicating the other room, ‘down at once; she might have had a naughty fit, and tormented herself and everybody.’

‘You think it will be all right?’ said Frank anxiously. ‘It was a venture, but when he heard that she was at the Dower House, there was no holding him. He thinks she has as much to forgive as he has.’

‘You wrote something of that—though the actual misery and accident were no fault of his, poor fellow, and yet—yet all that self-acted and re-acted on one another, and did each other harm,’ said Adela.

‘Yes,’ said Frank; ‘harm that he only fully understood gradually, after he had burst away from it all in the shock, and was living a very different life with his little sister, and afterwards with her husband, a thoroughly good man.’

‘To whom you have trusted your nephew?’

‘Entirely. Herbert is very happy there, much more so than ever before, useful and able to follow his natural bent.’

‘I am very glad he will do well there.’

A sudden interruption here came on them in the shape of Amice, who had not been guarded against. She flew into the room in a fright, exclaiming—

‘Mamma, mamma, there’s a strange man like a black bear in the drawing-room, and he has got his arm round Aunt Bertha’s waist.’

‘Oh!’ as she perceived Lord Northmoor.

‘A Canadian bear I have just brought home, eh, Amy?’ said he, exhilarated into fun for once, while Lady Adela indulged in a quiet smile at the manner of partaking of humble pie.

Amice had, however, broken up the tÊte-À-tÊte, and all were soon together again, Lady Adela greeting Captain Alder as an old friend, and he, in the restraint of good breeding, betraying none of his feeling at the contrast between the girlish wife and the faded widow, although perhaps in very truth Adela Morton was a happier, certainly a more peaceful woman now than in those days.

All must spend the evening together. Where? The Northmoors carried the day, Adela and Bertha must come up to dinner, yes, and Amice too. It was fine moonlight and the Captain would stay and escort them.

Meantime Lord and Lady Northmoor revelled in a moonlight walk together exactly as they had done seven years before as a bride and bridegroom, but with that further ingredient in joy before them—that nightly romp with their Mite, to which Frank had been looking forward all through his voyage. Their Mite all the happier because his Tom and Fanny were at the keeper’s lodge, and allowed to play with him in the garden, and on the heath.

Six weeks later, Lord Northmoor acted as father at Bertha’s wedding, a quiet one, with Constance and Amice as bridesmaids, with, as supernumerary, little Boadicea, who was to share the new Canadian home.

Michael was there in the glory of his first knickerbockers, and Mrs. Bury was there, and her last words ere the bride came down dressed for the journey were, ‘How about “that stick,” my dear?’

‘Ah! sticks are sometimes made of good material.’

‘There is a tree that groweth by the Water Side,’ said Adela.