Never was a little village in greater commotion than Innisfield after Mark’s departure.  The succession of events had been such as to engage the attention of the most indifferent.  The mysterious exile of Mildred, the failing health and spirits of the blacksmith, the new rumors respecting the fate of Lucy, the sudden and unaccountable marriage of Mrs. Kinloch, and her fruitless attempt to bring her daughter back, were all discussed in every house, as well as in places of public resort.  Hugh Branning was soon convinced that the village was no place for him.  He had bravely horsewhipped a cripple, but he could not stop the tongues of the whole parish, even if he could protect himself from swift and extempore justice.  He gathered his clothes, and, after a long private conference with his mother, started before daylight for the railway-station.  As he does not appear on the stage again, we may say here, that, not long after, during a financial panic in New York, he made a fortune of nearly half a million dollars by speculating in stocks.  He used to tell his friends in after years that he had “only five thousand to begin with,—­the sole property left him by his lamented parents.”  He has now a handsome mansion in the Fifth Avenue, is a conspicuous member of the Rev. Dr. Holdfast’s church, and most zealous against the ill-timed discussions and philanthropic vagaries of the day.  What would he not give to forget that slowly-moving figure, with swimming eyes, carrying a flaring candle?  How far along the years that feeble light was thrown!  He never went through the hall of his house at night without a shudder, dreading to catch a glimpse of that sorrowing face.

It was on Tuesday evening, the night preceding the Probate Court to which Squire Clamp had been cited.  Nothing had been heard from Mark, and his friends were much depressed.  Mildred sat by Mr. Hardwick’s bedside, during the long hours, and read to him from his favorite authors.  About ten o’clock, just as the family were preparing to go to bed, Mark drove up to the door.  He was warmly welcomed, and at once overwhelmed with questions.  “Did he find Lucy?” “What did she know?” “Why did she secrete herself?” To all these Mark merely replied, “I found Lucy; how much I have accomplished I dare not say.  But do you, James, come with me.  We will go up to old Mrs. Ransom’s.”

“Why, she’s not there; she’s gone to the poor-house.”

“Broken down with old age and sorrow, I suppose.  But I don’t care to see her now.  Let us go to the old house; and meantime, you girls, go to bed.”

But they protested they should wait till he returned,—­that they could not sleep a wink until they knew the result.

Provided with a lantern, the young men set out.  They found the hovel nearly in ruins; for pilferers had taken such pieces as they could strip off for firewood.  Mark eagerly ripped up the floor near the hearth.  At the first flash of the light he saw a paper, dusty and discolored.  He seized and opened it. It was the will of Mr. Kinloch, duly signed and attested.  Lucy had not deceived him.