They had taken Anthony and Dorothy completely by surprise, for although Bessie had written to them of her engagement, she had said nothing of coming home, as she did not then expect to do so.  But circumstances had changed, and the old couple were just sitting down to their frugal breakfast of bread and tea when a carriage from the station drove into the park, and in a moment Bessie was in Dorothy’s arms, laughing and crying and talking in the same breath, presenting Hannah as her husband and her husband as her Aunt Hannah, in her joy and excitement at being home once more.

It did not take long to explain why they had come, to the old people, who entered heart and soul into the matter Anthony offering to go at once to Carnavon and hunt up some one who could swear to the hand-writing of Joel Rogers and help to prove the will, while Dorothy said she had no doubt that among some papers, bills and receipts which had belonged to Bessie’s grandmother and which were still lying in an old writing-desk where Daisy had put them when her mother died, there were letters from Joel to his sister, which proved to be a fact.

“I remember him well, though he was a good bit older than I am,” Anthony said.  “A little sandy-haired man, very kind-hearted and honest, though rather touchy and quarrelsome if he had too much beer in him, I shouldn’t wonder but he died in some spree brought on by drink.”

“Yes, he died in a spree brought on by drink,” Hannah answered, sadly, and that was the only time she was ever called upon to speak of the manner of Joel Rogers’ death.

Indeed, the whole matter was managed far more easily than she had feared.  No troublesome questions whatever were asked, for there was no one enough interested in Joel Rogers to ask them, and when the will was proven and Bessie’s claim as his rightful heir established, Grey found no difficulty whatever in obtaining from the company where the deceased had owned shares so many years ago, a full and correct account of all moneys invested and the dividends which had been accruing since, the whole of which was at once made over to Bessie, who found herself an heiress to so large an amount that it fairly took her breath away at first.

“Why, I am rich!” she exclaimed, and then, as the tears gathered in her eyes, she continued:  “Oh, if this had come to me while poor father was alive, it would have made him so comfortable, and we were so poor.”

Then she began to wonder what she should do with it all, and how dispose of it to the best advantage.

“If you were only poor and wanted it, I should be so glad,” she said to Grey; “but you do not, and so I must do the best I can.”

It never occurred to her to use any part of it for herself.  She meant to give it away, and make a great many people happy.  And within a day or two she had decided what to do with a part of it at least.  She was sitting alone with Grey around the bright fire in the drawing-room one evening after their late dinner, and Grey was saying to her, as she sat on a low stool at his side, leaning her head on his knee and holding his hand in hers: