I often came to Richard and his wife, and I often met Mr. Woodcourt there.  Richard still suspected my guardian, and refused to see him, and when I said this was so unreasonable, my guardian only said, “What shall we find reasonable in Jarndyce and Jarndyce?  Unreason and injustice from beginning to end, if it ever has an end.  How should poor Rick, always hovering near it, pluck reason out of it?”

It was some months after this when Mr. Woodcourt asked me to be his wife, and I had to tell him I was not free.  But I had to tell him that I could never forget how proud and glad I was at having been beloved by him.

He took my hand and kissed it, and was like himself again.

All this time my guardian had never referred to his letter or my answer, so I said to him next morning I would be the mistress of Bleak House whenever he pleased.

“Next month?” my guardian said gaily.

“Next month, dear guardian.”

At the end of the month my guardian went away to Yorkshire, and asked me to follow him.  I was very much surprised, and when the journey was over my guardian explained that he had asked me to come down to see a house he had bought for Mr. Woodcourt, with whom he was always very pleased.

It was a beautiful summer morning when we went out to look at the house, and there over the porch was written.  “Bleak House.”  He led me to a seat, and sitting down beside me, said: 

“When I wrote you the letter to which you brought the answer”—­my guardian smiled as he referred to it—­“I had my own happiness too much in view; but I had yours, too.  Hear me, my love, but do not speak.  When Woodcourt came home, I saw that there was other happiness for you; I saw with whom you would be happier.  Well, I have long been in Allan Woodcourt’s confidence, although he was not, until yesterday, in mine.  One more last word.  When Allan Woodcourt spoke to you, my dear, he spoke with my knowledge and consent.  But I gave him no encouragement; not I, for these surprises were my great reward, and I was too miserly to part with a scrap of it.  He was to come and tell me all that passed, and he did.  I have no more to say.  This is Bleak House.  This day I give this house its little mistress, and before God it is the brightest day in all my life.”

He rose, and raised me with him.  We were no longer alone.  My husband—­I have called him by that name full seven happy years now—­stood at my side.

“Allan,” said my guardian, “take from me the best wife that ever man had.  What more can I say for you than that I know you deserve her?”

He kissed me once again.  And now the tears were in his eyes as he said, more softly, “Esther, my dearest, after so many years, there is a kind of parting in this too.  I know that my mistake has caused you some distress.  Forgive your old guardian in restoring him to his old place in your affections.  Allan, take my dear.”