l be
afore the day's gone, but not with Peter's good-will, seemingly. Well,
they went on, too. And when all of 'em coom't up to the church togither,
there was the parson in his white smock and his bare poll and big book
open to start. But, you see, there warn't no corpse. Where was it? Why,
it was no' but resting quiet all by itsel' on the wall a mile away."

Gubblum was proceeding to associate the grewsome story with the
incidents of Paul's appearance at the fire while he was supposed to be
in London; but Greta had returned to the parlor, muffled in furs, Paul
had thrown on a long frieze ulster, and every one had risen for the last
leave-taking. In the midst of the company stood the good old Christian,
his wrinkled face wet with silent tears. Greta threw herself into his
arms and wept aloud. Then the parson began to cast seeming merry glances
around him, and to be mighty jubilant all at once.

The improvised sledge was at the door, laden with many boxes.

"Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye!"

A little cheer, a little attempt at laughter, a suppressed sigh, then a
downright honest cry, and away they were gone. The last thing seen by
Greta's hazy eyes was a drooping white head amid many bright girl faces.

How they flew along. The glow of sunset was now in their faces. It
crimsoned the west, and sparkled like gold on the eastern crags. Between
them and the light were the skaters drawing the sledge, sailing along
like a flight of great rooks, their voices echoing in unseen caverns of
the fells.

Mr. Bonnithorne sat with Paul and Greta.

"Where did you say you would stay in London?" he asked.

"At Morley's Hotel," said Paul.

With this answer the lawyer looked unreasonably happy.

The station was reached in twenty minutes. The train steamed in. Paul
and Greta got into the last carriage, all before it being full. A moment
more, and they were gone.

Then Mr. Bonnithorne walked direct to the telegraph office. But the
liquor he had taken played him false. He had got it into his stupefied
head that he must have blundered about Morley's Hotel. That was not
Paul's, but Hugh's address. So he sent this telegram:

"Left by train at one. Address, Hawk and Heron."

Then he went home happy.

That night there was high revel at the Ghyll. First, a feast in the
hall: beef, veal, mutton, ham, haggis, and hot bacon pie. Then an
adjournment to a barn, where tallow candles were stuck into cloven
sticks, and hollowed potatoes serve