nd a
happier mother; that your life will be one long story of unassuming
kindness, and that, when at last you die, you will become a sacred
memory in many hearts. That is what I read. The only magic you will
ever wield, Angela, will be the magic of your goodness."

"Who knows? We cannot read the future," she answered.

"And so you are going to Madeira next week. Then, this will be the
last time that we shall meet--before you go, I mean--for I am off to
London to-morrow, for a while, on some business. When next we meet, if
we do meet again, Angela, you will be a married woman. Do not start,
dear; there is nothing shocking about that. But, perhaps, we shall not
meet any more."

"Oh, Mr. Fraser! why do you say such dreadful things?"

"There is nothing dreadful about it, Angela. I am getting on in life,
and am not so strong as I was; and you are both young and strong, and
must in the ordinary course of things outlive me for many years. But,
whatever happens, my dear, I know that you always keep a warm corner
in your memory for your old master; and, as for me, I can honestly
say, that to have known and taught you has been the greatest privilege
of a rather lonely life."

Here Angela began to cry.

"Don't cry, my dear. There is, thank God, another meeting-place than
this, and, if I reach the shore of that great future before you, I
shall--but there, my dear, it is time for you to be going home. You
must not stop here to listen to this melancholy talk. Go home, Angela,
and think about your lover. I am busy to-night. Give me a kiss, dear,
and go."

Presently, she was gone, and he heard the front-door close behind her.
He went to the window, and watched the tall form gradually growing
fainter in the gloaming, till it vanished altogether.

Then he came back, and, sitting down at his writing-table, rested his
grizzled head upon his hand and thought. Presently he raised it, and
there was a sad smile flickering round the wrinkles of the nervous
mouth.

"And now for 'hard labour at the London docks,'" he said, aloud.

CHAPTER LXXII

Nothing occurred to mar the prosperity of the voyage of the _Evening
Star_. That beautiful little vessel declined to simplify the course of
this history by going to the bottom with Mildred and Arthur, as the
imaginative reader may have perhaps expected. She did not even get
into a terrific storm, in order to give Arthur the opportunity of
performing heroic fe