bright morning light,
when Mr. Hammond seated himself beside her sofa. The change in her
appearance since the spring was more marked to-day than it had seemed to
him last night in the dim lamplight. Yes, there was need hero for a
speedy settlement of air earthly matters. The traveller was nearing the
mysterious end of the journey. The summons might come at any hour.

'Mr. Hammond, I feel a confidence in your integrity, your goodness of
heart, and high principle which I never thought I could feel for a man
of whom I know so little,' began Lady Maulevrier, gravely. 'All I know
of you or your antecedents is what my grandson has told me--and I must
say that the information so given has been very meagre. And yet I
believe in you--and yet I am going to trust you, wholly, blindly,
implicitly--and I am going to give you my granddaughter, ever so much
sooner than I intended to give her to you. Soon, very soon, if you will
have her!'

'I will have her to-morrow, if there is time to get a special licence,'
exclaimed Hammond, bending down to kiss the dowager's hand, radiant with
delight.

'You shall marry her very soon, if you like, marry her by special
licence, in this room. I should like to see your wedding. I have a
strange impatience to behold one of my granddaughters happily married,
to know that her future is secure, that come weal, come woe, she is safe
in the protection of a brave true man. I am not scared by the idea of a
little poverty. That is often the best education for youth. But while
you and I are alone we may as well talk about ways and means. Perhaps
you may hardly feel prepared to take upon yourself the burden of a wife
this year.'

'As well this year as next. I am not afraid.'

'Young men are so rash. However, as long as I live your responsibilities
will be only nominal. This house will be Mary's home, and yours whenever
you are able to occupy it. Of course I should not like to interfere with
your professional efforts--but if you are cultivating literature,--why
books can be written at Fellside better than in London. This lakeland of
ours has been the nursery of deathless writers. But I feel that my days
are numbered--and when I am dead--well death is always a cause of change
and trouble of some kind, and Mary will profit very little by my death.
The bulk of my fortune is left to Lesbia. I have taught her to consider
herself my heiress; and it would be unjust to alter my will.'

'Pray do not dream of such