good in curing by the soft hand of
time such wounds as those from which she was suffering. She should
"retrick her beams," and once more "flame in the forehead of the
morning sky," if only she would help the work of time by her own
endeavours. "Fight against the feeling, Emily, and try to conquer it,
and it will be conquered."

"But, Papa, I do not wish to conquer it. I should not tell you of all
this, only for one thing."

"What thing, dearest?"

"I am not like other girls, who can just leave themselves alone and
be of no trouble. You told me that if I outlived you--"

"The property will be yours; certainly. Of course, it was my
hope,--and is,--that all that shall be settled by your marriage
before my death. The trouble and labour is more than a woman should
be called on to support alone."

"Just so. And it is because you are thinking of all this, that I feel
it right to tell you. Papa, I shall never be married."

"We will leave that for the present, Emily."

"Very well; only if it would make a change in your will, you should
make it. You will have to be here, Papa, after I am gone,--probably."

"No, no, no."

"But, if it were not so, I should not know what to do. That is all,
Papa; only this,--that I beg your pardon for all the trouble I have
caused you." Then she knelt before him, and he kissed her head, and
blessed her, and wept over her.

There was nothing more heard from Cousin George at Humblethwaite, and
nothing more heard of him for a long time. Mr. Boltby did pay his
debts, having some terribly hard struggles with Mr. Hart and Captain
Stubber before the liquidations were satisfactorily effected. It was
very hard to make Mr. Hart and Captain Stubber understand that the
Baronet was paying these debts simply because he had said that he
would pay them once before, under other circumstances, and that no
other cause for their actual payment now existed. But the debts
were paid, down to the last farthing of which Mr. Boltby could have
credible tidings. "Pay everything," Sir Harry had said; "I have
promised it." Whereby he was alluding to the promise which he had
made to his daughter. Everything was paid, and Cousin George was able
to walk in and out of his club, a free man,--and at times almost
happy,--with an annuity of five hundred pounds a year! Nothing more
was said to him as to the necessity of expatriation.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE END.

Among playgoing folk, in the following April there w