ife. Derrick, that same fate has been very good to you."

"Don't I know it, sir!" said Derrick in a low voice.

They reached the Hall; and as they entered, they could not but be
conscious of the stir of excitement there; the old butler and the other
servants looked at them with an intense interest. As the two men stood
in the hall, waiting the summons to the sick-room, Derrick looked round
him eagerly; but it was not at the subdued splendour surrounding him; he
scarcely noted the indications of luxury and wealth, the wealth and
state to which he was heir; he was looking and listening for some sign
of Celia; and he was so absorbed that he started when his father touched
his arm and directed his gaze to a portrait.

"That is mine, Derrick," he said. "Do you see any resemblance to
yourself?"

"Yes; I think--yes, I do," replied Derrick.

"I noticed it yesterday, directly I entered the hall, for the first time
for many years."

The footman came down to say that they might go up, and they ascended
the broad stairs, Derrick still looking about him and listening; but
Celia did not appear. They were ushered into the sick-room, and the door
closed on them; and they remained there for nearly half an hour; for the
injured man had recovered something of his old strength, as if a burden
had been lifted from his shoulders, and he was able to hear the story of
Derrick's identity and to speak a few words of relief and satisfaction.
When they left the room both Derrick and his father were much moved, and
they went down the stairs in silence. Derrick stopped as they reached
the hall, and again looked round him.

"You will find her in there," said his father, nodding towards the
library; and Derrick, with a sudden flush and a brightening of the eyes,
knocked at the door.

The voice that said, "Come in," made his heart leap. He turned the
handle of the door and entered. Celia had heard his voice in the hall,
was expecting him; she was standing by the table, her hand pressed on
it, her face pale but her eyes glowing with the ineffable light of love.

"Sydney!" she murmured, all her heart in her voice.

He took her in his arms and, for a moment, there was silence; then she
raised her head and whispered,

"It is all right, Sydney?"

"It is all right," he responded. "I am here, as you see; I am acquitted;
all is well. But, dearest," he hesitated apologetically, "you must not
call me 'Sydney.'"

She looked up at him, her brows kn