for her they both know. If you deny them
from any mistaken regard or fear for them, judge of my intentions by
their recognition of this person as their old humble friend.'

'I always said it!' cried the bride, 'I knew she was not a common
child! Alas, sir! we have no power to help you, for all that we could
do, has been tried in vain.'

With that, they related to him, without disguise or concealment, all
that they knew of Nell and her grandfather, from their first meeting
with them, down to the time of their sudden disappearance; adding
(which was quite true) that they had made every possible effort to
trace them, but without success; having been at first in great alarm
for their safety, as well as on account of the suspicions to which they
themselves might one day be exposed in consequence of their abrupt
departure. They dwelt upon the old man's imbecility of mind, upon the
uneasiness the child had always testified when he was absent, upon the
company he had been supposed to keep, and upon the increased depression
which had gradually crept over her and changed her both in health and
spirits. Whether she had missed the old man in the night, and knowing
or conjecturing whither he had bent his steps, had gone in pursuit, or
whether they had left the house together, they had no means of
determining. Certain they considered it, that there was but slender
prospect left of hearing of them again, and that whether their flight
originated with the old man, or with the child, there was now no hope
of their return. To all this, the single gentleman listened with the
air of a man quite borne down by grief and disappointment. He shed
tears when they spoke of the grandfather, and appeared in deep
affliction.

Not to protract this portion of our narrative, and to make short work
of a long story, let it be briefly written that before the interview
came to a close, the single gentleman deemed he had sufficient evidence
of having been told the truth, and that he endeavoured to force upon
the bride and bridegroom an acknowledgment of their kindness to the
unfriended child, which, however, they steadily declined accepting. In
the end, the happy couple jolted away in the caravan to spend their
honeymoon in a country excursion; and the single gentleman and Kit's
mother stood ruefully before their carriage-door.

'Where shall we drive you, sir?' said the post-boy.

'You may drive me,' said the single gentleman, 'to the--' He was