a fool! I was, I know. I hope you are glad,
aunt."

"Of course I am. I am glad of anything that makes you happy. It
seemed such a pity that, when so many gentlemen were falling in love
with you all round, you couldn't like anybody."

"But I did like somebody, Aunt Margaret. And I did like the
best,--didn't I?" In answer to this Mrs. Dosett made no reply, having
always had an aunt's partiality for poor Tom, in spite of all his
chains.

Her uncle's congratulations were warmer even than her aunt's.

"My dear girl," he said, "I am rejoiced indeed that you should have
before you such a prospect of happiness. I always felt how sad for
you was your residence here, with two such homely persons as your
aunt and myself."

"I have always been happy with you," said Ayala,--perhaps straining
the truth a little in her anxiety to be courteous. "And I know," she
added, "how much Lucy and I have always owed you since poor papa's
death."

"Nevertheless, it has been dull for a young girl like you. Now you
will have your own duties, and if you endeavour to do them properly
the world will never be dull to you." And then there were some few
words about the wedding. "We have no feeling, my dear," said her
uncle, "except to do the best we can for you. We should have been
glad to see you married from here if that had suited. But, as this
lover of yours has grand friends of his own, I dare say their place
may be the better." Ayala could hardly explain to her uncle that she
had acceded to Lady Albury's proposal because, by doing so, she would
spare him the necessary expense of the wedding.

But Ayala's great delight was in meeting her sister. The two girls
had not seen each other since the engagement of either of them had
been ratified by their friends. The winter and spring, as passed by
Lucy at Merle Park, had been very unhappy for her. Things at Merle
Park had not been pleasant to any of the residents there, and Lucy
had certainly had her share of the unpleasantness. Her letters to
Ayala had not been triumphant when Aunt Emmeline had more than once
expressed her wish to be rid of her, and when the news reached her
that Uncle Tom and Hamel had failed to be gracious to each other.
Nor had Ayala written in a spirit of joy before she had been able to
recognise the Angel of Light in Jonathan Stubbs. But now they were to
meet after all their miseries, and each could be triumphant.

It was hard for them to know exactly how to begin. To Luc