He spoke no more for full a minute; no sound was heard except the distant murmur of the sea, for the day was fine and windless.  The April sun shone brightly in upon the pair, as if to bless their parting.

“Where is Charley?” murmured he.

“He is gone with Agnes for a walk; they will not be long; they talked of going to the Watch Tower.  You remember the old Watch Tower, Richard?”

“Well, ah, well!” answered he, smiling.  “It is just twenty years ago.  How often have I thought of it!”

For a moment—­before they separated forever—­these two seemed to themselves to relive the youth to which another generation had succeeded.

“Agnes is a far better girl than I was, Richard; but she can not love our boy more than I loved you.”

Richard answered with a smile that glorified each ghastly feature, and brought out in them a likeness to himself of old.

“She will be his good angel, Harry,” whispered Richard, gravely, “and will guard him from himself.  He will need her aid, but it will be sufficient.  I trust, I believe, that evil is not Bred in the Bone with him, as it was with me.”

There was a long, long silence, broken by a silvery laugh, which came through the half-opened window like a strain of cheerful music, then was suddenly cut short.

“Hush, Charley; you forget,” said the soft voice of Agnes; “he may be sleeping.”

Through the calm spring air the reproof was borne into the sick man’s room as clearly as the sound which had called it forth.

“He is so happy,” whispered Harry, gently; “you must forgive him; remember he does not know.”

“Yes, yes; it is better so.  Dear Charley—­happy, happy Charley!”

And a smile once more came over the sick man’s face, which did not pass away, for Death had frozen it there.

L’ENVOI.

Years have passed since Richard Yorke was laid in the church-yard on the hill at Gethin, close beside his mother, whose bones Harry’s pious care had caused to be transported thither.

If aught of things that here befall
Touch a spirit among things divine—­
If love has force to move us there at all,

her ghost was glad.  “In time,” thought Harry, “I too shall lie by his side, at last, once more.”

Old Trevethick’s prophecy was accomplished in the almost fabulous success that attended the working of Wheal Danes.  If its shares are not quoted in the market, that is because the family have retained it in their own hands, in spite of the most dazzling offers.