ding seemed like hours. "Can you prove the handwritings?" he asked.
"And prove the residence?"

Sir Patrick took up a second morsel of paper lying ready under his hand.

"There are the names of persons who can prove the writing, and prove
the residence," he replied. "One of your two witnesses below stairs
(otherwise useless) can speak to the hour at which Mr. Brinkworth
arrived at the inn, and so can prove that the lady for whom he asked
was, at that moment, Mrs. Geoffrey Delamayn. The indorsement on the back
of the note-paper, also referring to the question of time, is in the
handwriting of the same witness--to whom I refer you, when it suits your
convenience to question him."

"I will verify the references, Sir Patrick, as matter of form. In the
mean time, not to interpose needless and vexatious delay, I am bound to
say that I can not resist the evidence of the marriage."

Having replied in those terms he addressed himself, with marked respect
and sympathy, to Anne.

"On the faith of the written promise of marriage exchanged between
you in Scotland," he said, "you claim Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn as your
husband?"

She steadily repented the words after him.

"I claim Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn as my husband."

Mr. Moy appealed to his client. Geoffrey broke silence at last.

"Is it settled?" he asked.

"To all practical purposes, it is settled."

He went on, still looking at nobody but Anne.

"Has the law of Scotland made her my wife?"

"The law of Scotland has made her your wife."

He asked a third and last question.

"Does the law tell her to go where her husband goes?"

"Yes."

He laughed softly to himself, and beckoned to her to cross the room to
the place at which he was standing.

She obeyed. At the moment when she took the first step to approach him,
Sir Patrick caught her hand, and whispered to her, "Rely on me!" She
gently pressed his hand in token that she understood him, and advanced
to Geoffrey. At the same moment, Blanche rushed between them, and flung
her arms around Anne's neck.

"Oh, Anne! Anne!"

An hysterical passion of tears choked her utterance. Anne gently unwound
the arms that clung round her--gently lifted the head that lay helpless
on her bosom.

"Happier days are coming, my love," she said. "Don't think of _me._"

She kissed her--looked at her--kissed her again--and placed her in her
husband's arms. Arnold remembered her parting words at Craig Fernie,
when they had wished eac