lmsley. Lionel
spoke laughingly.

"So Jan is appreciated at last!"

Lady Verner lifted her hands with a deprecatory movement. "It took me
three whole days before I would believe it," she gravely said. "Even
now, there are times when I think Mary must be playing with him."

Lady Mary shook her head with a blush and a smile. Lionel took her on
his arm, and walked away with her.

"You cannot think how happy it has made me and Lucy. We never thought
Jan was, or could be, appreciated."

"He was by me. He is worth--shall I tell it you, Lionel?--more than all
the rest of Deerham put together. Yourself included."

"I will indorse the assertion," answered Lionel. "I am glad you are
going to have him."

"I would have had him, had he asked me, years ago," candidly avowed Lady
Mary.

"I was inquiring of Jan, whether you would not wish him to give up his
profession. He was half offended with me for suggesting it."

"If Jan could ever be the one to lead an idle, useless life, I think
half my love for him would die out," was her warm answer. "It was Jan's
practical industry, his way of always doing the right in straightforward
simplicity, that I believe first won me to like him. This world was made
to work in; the next for rest--as I look upon it, Lionel. I shall be
prouder of being wife to the surgeon Jan Verner, than I should be had I
married a duke's eldest son."

"He is to take his degree, he says."

"I believe so: but he will practise generally all the same--just as he
does now. Not that I care that he should become Dr. Verner; it is papa."

"If he--Why, who can they be?"

Lionel Verner's interrupted sentence and question of surprise were
caused by the appearance of some singular-looking forms who were
stalking into the grounds. Poor, stooping, miserable, travel-soiled
objects, looking fit for nothing but the tramp-house. A murmer of
astonishment burst from all present when they were recognised. It was
Grind's lot. Grind and his family, who had gone off with the Mormons,
returning now in humility, like dogs with burnt tails.

"Why, Grind, can it be you?" exclaimed Lionel, gazing with pity at the
man's despairing aspect.

He, poor meek Grind, not less meek and civil than of yore, sat down upon
a bench and burst into tears. They gathered round him in crowds, while
he told his tale. How they had, after innumerable hardships on the road,
too long to recite then, after losing some of their party by death, two
of hi