So Tom told old Mark it was impossible, because he was in love with another woman.  And then just as he was packing up next morning came a note from Mark Armsworth and a cheque for L500, “To Thomas Thurnall, Esq., for behaving like a gentleman.”  And Tom went Eastward Ho!—­two years ago.

IV.—­Christmas Eve

It was in September, after Tom had left, that Grace found the missing belt.  Her mother had hidden it in a cave on the shore, and Grace, following her there, came upon the hiding-place.  The shock of detection brought out the disease against which Mrs. Harvey had taken so many precautions, and within two days the unhappy woman was dead.

Grace sold all her mother’s effects, paid off all creditors, and with a few pounds left, vanished from Aberalva.  She had written at once to Tom at Whitbury, telling him that his belt and money were safe, but had received no answer; and now she went to Whitbury herself, only to arrive a week after Tom had gone.  Mark Armsworth and Mary kept her for a night, and she left Tom’s money with the old banker, retaining the belt and then set out Eastward Ho! too, to nurse the wounded in the war; and, if possible, to find Tom and clear her name of all suspicion.

How Grace Harvey worked at Scutari and at Balaclava, there is no need to tell.  Why mark her out from the rest, when all did more than nobly?  In due time she went home to England—­home, but not to Aberalva.

She presented herself one day at Mark Armsworth’s house in Whitbury, and begged him to obtain her a place as servant to old Dr. Thurnall.  And by the help of Mark, and Mary, Grace Harvey took up her abode in the old man’s house; and ere a month was past she was to him a daughter.

Mary loved her—­wanted to call her sister; but Grace drew back lovingly, but humbly, from all advances; for she had divined Mary’s secret with the quick eye of a woman.  She saw how Mary grew daily paler, sadder.  Be it so; Mary had a right to him, and she had none.

* * * * *

And where was Tom Thurnall all the while?  No man could tell.

Mark inquired; Lord Minchampstead inquired; great personages inquired; but all in vain.  A few knew, and told Lord Minchampstead, who told Mark, in confidence, that he had been heard of last in the Circassian Mountains about Christmas 1854; but since then all was blank.

The old man never seemed to regret him; and never mentioned his name after a while.  None knew it was because he and Grace never talked of anything else.  So they had lived, and so they had waited.

And now it is the blessed Christmas Eve; the light is failing fast; when down the High Street comes Mark’s portly bulk.  The next minute he has entered the old doctor’s house, and is full of the afternoon’s run, for he has been out fox-hunting.

The old doctor is confident to-day that his son will return, and Grace reassures him.