ey find this so
difficult as they expected, for having once made up his mind, he wished
to have the matter concluded, and he gave his instructions to Bulfinch
the next day. Of course Mark had to give full notice to his employers;
but the allowance was to begin at once, so that Annaple only went back
to the warehouse to pack up, since she was to occupy No. 5, while Mr.
Egremont and his daughter were going under Mr. Dutton's escort to the
baths in Dauphine, an entirely new resort, free from the associations
he dreaded, for he could not yet bear the sight of little Willy--the
rival 'boy of Egremont.' But the will was safely signed before he
went, to the great relief of Nuttie, who, according to the experience
of fiction, could hardly believe his life safe till what she called
justice had been done.

After all Mr. Egremont became so dependent on Mr. Dutton, during this
journey, that he did not like the separation at its close, and pressed
on the marriage even sooner than either of the lovers felt quite
reverent towards the recent sorrow. He insisted on Bulfinch having the
settlements ready for them on their return, and only let them wait long
enough to keep their residence, before there was a very quiet wedding
in their parish church, with the cousins for bridesmaids. Then Mark
and Annaple took care of Mr. Egremont for the fortnight while Mr.
Dutton showed his wife his old haunts in France, returning to
Springfield House, where there was plenty of room for Mr. Egremont to
make his home with them.

Said Annaple to Miss Nugent, 'I never saw Nuttie so youthful and
bright. She is more like a girl than I ever saw her since the first.'

'Yes,' said Mary, 'she has some one to rest on now.'

Mr. Egremont lived between three and four years, more contented and
peaceful than he had ever been, though frequently suffering, and
sometimes giving way to temper and impatience. But Mr. Dutton
understood how to manage on these occasions, and without giving up his
own extensive usefulness, could give him such care, attention, and
amusement as beguiled his discomforts, and made his daughter's task an
easier one.

How far the sluggish enfeebled nature was capable of a touch of better
things, or whether his low spirits were repentance, no one could judge.
At any rate sneers had ended, and when he was laid beside his wife and
boy at Bridgefield, Ursula stood by the grave with a far more tender
and hopeful feeling than she could have th