rged with that shameful crime, and
was pronounced guilty upon the strength of cunningly devised and
manufactured evidence? No one, of course, except my father; he must
know; because, Dick dear, it is my fixed determination that he shall
help you in this matter; you will accompany me to Bombay, and personally
deliver me over into my father's care. Then I shall tell him all that
you have done for me, and been to me; and you will tell him your whole
story, just as you have told it to me. And I am sure that, if only for
the sake of his daughter, he will take up the matter and bring the truth
to light. And, Dick, I am not going to allow your morbid feelings, or
even maidenly reserve, to stand in the way of my happiness; you have
confessed that you love me, and I know it to be true, for your eyes and
your actions have told me so daily, for months past. It cannot be
unmaidenly, therefore, in me to confess that I return your love with all
my heart and soul."

"Oh, Flora, my love, my heart's darling, are you _sure_ of this?"
demanded Dick, laying his hands upon her shoulders and gazing into her
eyes as though he would read her very soul. "Are you sure that you are
not mistaking mere gratitude for a warmer feeling?"

"Yes, Dick," she answered, "I am quite, _quite_ sure. My gratitude you
won long ago; it was yours when we first stood on the deck of the
_Mermaid_ together, dripping from our long night's immersion in the
sea--for had you not, even then, saved my life? And it grew even deeper
as I noted day by day your thoughtful care and anxiety for my welfare.
But gratitude and love are two very different feelings; and while I
should of course have always been profoundly grateful to you for your
unceasing care, I am sure that I should never have learned to love you
had I not first seen that you loved me."

"Then God be praised for His unspeakable mercy in bestowing upon me this
pricelessly precious gift of your dear love!" exclaimed Dick, fervently.
"I will accept it, ay and I will moreover prove myself worthy of it.
This blessed day marks a turning-point in my life; from this moment I
leave my wretched past behind me; there shall be no more useless
fretting and grieving for me. My work, now, is first to restore you to
your father; next to free myself--by his help, if he will give it me,
but anyway, to free myself--from the undeserved stigma that attaches to
my true name; and, finally, to win for you such a home and posi