For some days past, ever since Verneede's fiasco in fact, Leavesley had been very much down in the mouth.

There is a tide in the affairs of man that when it reaches its lowest ebb usually takes a turn. The tide had been out with Leavesley for some time, and acres of desolate mud spoke nothing of the rolling breakers that were coming in.

The first roller had arrived by the first post on this very morning. It was a letter from his uncle.

    "Gordon Square.

    "Dear Frank,—I am in bed with a bad foot, or I would ask you to call and see me.

    "I want that five pounds back. I made a will some years ago, by which you benefited to the extent of two thousand pounds; I am destroying that will, and drafting another.

    "It's this way. I don't intend to die just yet, and you may as well have the two thousand[Pg 302] now, when it will be of use to you. Call on Bridgewater, he will hand you shares to the amount in the Great Western Railway. Take my advice and don't sell them, they are going to rise, but of course, as to this you are your own master.—Your affectionate uncle,

    "James Hancock."

"Two thousand pounds!" yelled Leavesley, "Belinda!" (he had heard her foot on the stairs).

"Yessir."

"I've been left two thousand pounds." Belinda passed on her avocations; she thought it was another of Mr Leavesley's jokes.

He ate a tremendous breakfast without knowing what he was eating, and in the middle of it the second roller came in.

It was a telegram.

He felt certain it was from Hancock revoking his legacy. It was from Miss Lambert.

    "Only just found your letter. Please call this morning. Good news to tell you."

"Fanny!" cried Leavesley, as he stood before her in the drawing-room of "The Laurels" (she had just entered the room, having returned from posting her letter).

[Pg 303]

"Think—I've got two thousand pounds this morning!"

"Mercy!" cried Miss Lambert. "Where did you get it from?"

"Uncle."

"Mr Hancock?"

"Yes; he was going to have left me it in his will, but he's given me it instead."

"How good of him!" said Fanny. She was about to say something else, but she stopped.

"That's my good news," continued Leavesley. "What's yours?"

"Mine? Oh—just think! Father's engaged to be married."

"To be married?"

"Yes, to a Miss Pursehouse; she's awfully rich."

He did not for a moment grasp the importance of this piece of intelligence. Then it broke on him. Now that Fanny's father was provided for, she would be free to marry any one she liked.

*         *         *         *         *

"I was nearly heart-broken," mumbled Leavesley into Fanny's hair—they were seated on the couch—"when you didn't reply."

"The letter was on the kitchen dresser all[Pg 304] the time," replied Fanny in a happy and dreamy voice, "behind a plate."

"And then when old Verneede called, and you seemed so indifferent—at least, he said you did."

"Who said I did?"

"Verneede; when he called here that day."

"He never called here."

"Verneede never called here?"

"Never in his life."

"He said he did, and he saw you, and told you I was going to Australia, and you didn't care."

"Oh, what a horrid, wicked story! He never came here."

"He must have been dreaming then," said Leavesley, who began to see how matters stood as regards the veracity of Verneede. "No matter, I don't care now. Hold me tighter, Fanny."

*         *         *         *         *

Till some one discovers the art of printing kisses, asterisks must serve.

"But," said Leavesley after an interval of sweet silence, "what I can't make out is how Bridgewater found out about you and me."

[Pg 305]

"Bridgewater!"

"Yes; he told my aunt all about us, and our going to Epping Forest: only the old fool said we went to the Zoo."

Fanny was silent. Then she said in a perplexed voice: "I want to tell you something. I did go to the Zoo."

"When?"

"The other day."

"Who with?"

"Guess!"

"Not—not Bevan?"

"No," said Fanny, "with your uncle."

Leavesley laughed.

"What a joke! Are you really in earnest?"

"Yes; he wrote to ask if I'd like to go, and I went. We met Mr Bridgewater."

"Oh, that accounts for it; he's mixed me and uncle up together—he must be going mad. Every one seems a little mad lately, uncle especially—taking you to the Zoo, and giving me two thousand, and—and—no matter, kiss me again."

*         *         *         *         *         *

"Now," said Fanny, suddenly jumping up, "I must see after the house. Father wired this morning that he was bringing Miss[Pg 306] Pursehouse here to-day to see the place, and I must get it tidy. Who's there?"

"Miss Fanny," said Susannah, opening the door an inch. Miss Lambert left the room hurriedly and closed the door. There was something in Susannah's voice that told her "something had happened."

"He's downstairs in the library."

"Oh, my goodness!" murmured Fanny with a frown; visions of Mr Hancock in all the positions of love-making rose before her. "Why didn't you say I was out?"

"I did, miss, and he said he'd wait."

Fanny went downstairs and into the library, and there before her stood Mr Bevan on the hearthrug.

Her face brightened wonderfully.

"I am so glad—when did you come? Guess who I thought it was? I thought it was Mr Hancock."

"Hancock?" said Charles, who had held her outstretched hand just a moment longer than was absolutely necessary. "Oh, that affair is all over. I stopped the action—by the way, I believe old Hancock's cracked; sent your father a most extraordinary wire, saying I was—what w............