ng, Clara. Pray understand that."

"I told Claude, when he wrote asking forgiveness, that he had my good
wishes, whatever he chose to do, but that I would not on any account
receive his wife. Very well, Arnold; that is exactly what I say to
you."

"Very well, Clara. I quite understand. As for the studio, and all the
things that you have given me, they are, of course, yours again. Let
me restore what I can to you."

"No, Arnold, they are yours. Let me hear no more about things that are
your own. Of course, your business, as you call it, is exciting. But
as for this other thing, it is far more important. Something has
happened; something I always expected; something that I looked
forward to for years; although it has waited on the way so long, it
has actually come at last, when I had almost forgotten to look for it.
So true it is, Arnold, that good fortune and misfortune alike come
when we least expect them."

Arnold sat down. He knew his cousin too well to interrupt her. She had
her own way of telling a story, and it was a roundabout way.

"I cannot complain, after twenty years, can I? I have had plenty of
rope, as you would say. But still it has come at last. And naturally,
when it does come, it is a shock."

"Is it hereditary gout, Clara?"

"Gout! Nonsense, Arnold! When the will was read, I said to myself,
'Claude is certain to come back and claim his own. It is his right,
and I hope he will come. But for my own part, I have not the least
intention of calling upon the governess.' Then three or four years
passed away, and I heard--I do not remember how--that he was dead. And
then I waited for his heirs, his children, or their guardians. But
they did not come."

"And now they have really come? Oh, Clara, this is indeed a
misfortune."

"No, Arnold; call it a restitution, not a misfortune. I have been
living all these years on the money which belongs to Claude's heirs."

"There was a son, then. And now he has dropped upon us from the
clouds?"

"It is a daughter, not a son. But you shall hear. I received a letter
this morning from a person called Dr. Joseph Washington, stating that
he wrote to me on account of the only child and heiress of the late
Claude Deseret."

"Who is Dr. Joseph Washington?"

"He is a physician, he says, and an American."

"Yes; will you go on?"

"I do not mind it, Arnold; I really do not. I must give up my house
and put down my carriage, but it is for Claude's daughter. I rejoice