“I hope you will not stay there long.  I shall be very lonely without you, Hanny.”

It was the first time he had given her the pet name of old, since Martha had been laid to rest in the church-yard, and as a penance for doing so, he went the same day to Martha’s grave and stood there at least fifteen minutes, with the November rain falling upon him until his clothes were nearly wet through.

“Poor Martha,” he sighed, as he turned away, “she would be fidgeted to death if she knew how wet I am.  I guess I had better drink some boneset when I get home.  I believe that is what she used to give me.”

He went with the party to New York, and so did Miss Grey and Miss McPherson, and the loungers at the Allington station made some joking remarks about one widower going off with three old maids, but each of the old maids knew her business, and cared little what the rabble said.  The Brownes, too, were in New York with Lord and Lady Hardy, who sailed in the same ship with Grey and Bessie.  Just how much Augusta’s wedding portion was, was never known, but that it was satisfactory was proven by the felicitous expression of Lord Hardy’s face, which beamed with delight as he said good-by to his mother-in-law, whom he kissed in the exuberance of his joy.  But his countenance fell a little when he heard her tell Augusta not to be so down in the mouth, for she should be over there herself early in the spring, in time to see to house-cleaning!

The day was bright and warm, as the days in Indian summer often are, and the McPherson party stood upon the wharf waving their good-bys as long as Grey and Bessie were discernible among the passengers; then they returned to their Hotel, and Miss Betsey sent the following cablegram to Neil in London: 

“Bessie was married yesterday to Grey Jerrold, and sails to-day for Liverpool.”

CHAPTER XVI.

BESSIE’S FORTUNE.

At last there came a day when Hannah Jerrold sat in the yew-shaded garden at Stoneleigh, on the same bench where Archie once lay sleeping, with Daisy at his side keeping the flies from him.  Archie and Daisy were dead, and Hannah Jerrold, whose life had reached out and laid hold upon theirs, was there in the old home to make restitution, and coming to her down the walk were Grey and Bessie, whose face was wonderfully beautiful as she lifted it to her husband, and said something which made him stoop down and kiss the sweet mouth from which the old, tired look had nearly vanished.

She was so happy now, this little Welsh girl, who had borne so much, and suffered so much, and it seemed to Hannah as she drew near as if a halo of joy shone in her deep blue eyes and irradiated every feature of her lovely countenance.

“Oh, it is so nice to be home again, and the old place is so dear to me,” she said, as she sat down by Hannah upon the bench, “I half wish we were going to stay here, though I like America very much, and shall in time, become as genuine a Yankee as Grey himself.  You know he is in a way a cosmopolitan.”